Uncommon Bond
by batistafan
Summary: Sequel to Uncommon Sense An auto accident creates upheaval, leaving Randy Orton facing possible criminal charges and an unconventional romance while Dave Batista tries to piece back together a tattered marriage as a result of amnesia. New Chapter AUG 31st
1. Prologue

**Uncommon Bond **

Prologue

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains violence, coarse language, as well as mature, consensual sexual situations (though not explicit), and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"I'd rather get my brains blown out in the wild than wait in terror at the slaughterhouse." – Craig Volk, _Northern Exposure, A-Hunting We Will Go, 1991_

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_**Tuesday 8:40 p.m. **_

**_December 23rd_**

_**Portland, Oregon**_

She stared forward in stony silence, the only sound being the occasional gust of the cold wind and the steady tapping of rain drops on the windshield melding with the wipers and the sudden crunch of the tires on the gravel as the Cadillac STS left the road. Her heart was rapping out an uneasy cadence as the vehicle rolled past the line of trees just off of the main road and then wound its way deeper into the backwoods of the Oregon side of the Columbia River. No interior lights could aid her in a soundless appraisal of her injuries or verify the filthy covering of grime that she knew was on her body already. Inside of the handcuffs, her wrists were chaffed and raw…sore. Fingernails, once manicured to perfection were split and chipped beyond repair. Every bone in her body ached with an intensity that determined to rob her of her resolve to concentrate on her surroundings, and all that was left of her clothing were the tattered remains of the satin chemise that had been underneath her periwinkle bridesmaid dress.

None of that mattered to Barren O'Neil. Not the dress, not the wedding ceremony where she had been the maid of honor less than 48 hours prior to this very moment. The veiled state of panic that she was in didn't matter much either, for Barren knew why the car wheeled into the clearing deep in the Oregon woods. She knew her body would not be found for a long time, if ever and that after tonight everything she had done to achieve her objective would be in vain. Her body jerked as the car came to a halt, but she continued to stare forward, knowing that there was nothing that could be done on her part to stop the inevitable.

No words were spoken as Teke Shaun slid the gear shift into park and slipped out of the driver seat and into the torrential rain. The tall middle aged man, clearly knowing his duty, rounded the back end of the car with purposeful strides, undaunted by the mud beneath his Italian leather boots and completely impervious to the sheet of rain-water soaking him from head to toe. He opened the passenger door and tugged the auburn-haired beauty out of the seat by her arm. Teke wasn't gentle in his acquisition of her and he hadn't needed to be…his instructions were crystal clear and he had no intention of deviating from them.

He shoved Barren roughly and watched as she stumbled in the mud and then quickly righted herself. Teke made certain that she could feel the muzzle of the 9mm Beretta in the flesh of her lower back as he led her toward the front of the car, he didn't want her to summon any bravery and the constant stab of the tip of the gun against her skin assured that. Rain drops lit up like tiny falling glass beads in the headlights as they steadily pelted the already muddy clearing. Teke's hand on her shoulder was insistent, as he clamped it sharply and she hit her knees when he forced her to the ground. He would rather not have her facing him; would rather not be looking her in the eyes when he spilt her skull open with the hollow-point bullet that sat obediently amongst the others in the magazine, awaiting the slide action's mechanical command to move. The wind lifted the wet strands of her crimson hair and he watched her shiver in the cold night air. And as always, Teke felt no remorse for what he was about to do. There was no forethought to her feelings now and there would be no contrition after.

"Once more, Barren…" His voice was a mere growl, laden with the thick evidence of his Dublin, Ireland origin. He could barely be heard over the sound of the rain and the wind through the tops of the trees, but even if she had been deaf, dumb and blind…she damn sure would have known what he'd been asking for. "The key." His voice rumbled.

Barren licked her cracked lips and braced herself, facing away from Teke and the gun. She made no move to speak, had no intention of telling him what he wanted to know. Her body hit the ground forcefully when he kicked her between the shoulder blades, as she kneeled.

"Still holding your own, Barren?" His breath made clouds in the cold air as he spoke. He spat and then whipped his damp, coal-black curls out of his line of sight. "I suppose it doesn't matter," Teke laughed as he leveled the gun on the back of her head. "I rid the world of one O'Neil already…killing another is just a service to society, I suppose."

Barren felt her ire rising and the heat of the blood pumping through her veins, at the mere mention of what she had known all along. _'One O'Neil already…'_ Teke had murdered Duncan…he had just admitted it. Her big brother had suffered the same fate that she was surely about to be consigned to. She pushed her body back up to the kneeling position, muddy water dripping down the entire front of her lean, muscular frame…she was determined to die with what was left of her dignity.

"If you're gonna kill me, then just do it…" Barren hissed and she was suddenly racked by a fit of chills. "Stop fucking around."

Behind her, she could hear Teke's laughter. "Gladly, Barren…gladly…" He raised the gun and pressed the wet muzzle into the stringy mass of scarlet hair at the back of her head, preparing to finish the job and tie up the loose ends of a major problem that at present was unraveling.

Barren closed her eyes, resigned to the knowledge that she was about to die, grasping for the memory of Duncan…the way he had looked the last time she had seen him…In the park on his lunch hour, when she had surprised him with a couple of hoagies, intent on enlisting his help with painting her apartment. Barren envisioned him laughing as he dove for the Frisbee she had thrown. She could see the carrot red hair that had never failed to fall into place perfectly, no matter how hard the wind had been blowing; the trail of freckles that led from one cheek to the other across the bridge of the proud aquiline nose, so uncommon to their Irish heritage.

She could remember Duncan clearly, fondly…her only brother and she smiled despite her ill-fated circumstance. In her mind she could see his snapping blue eyes somewhere between a cool sapphire and a sparkling cerulean, beneath the fringe of strawberry blonde lashes…her heart conjured up the memory of his strong jaw-line and the square chin…the white teeth with a gap in between the top two…the way his eyes squinted shut when he laughed…yes, she missed her brother…and yes, she would be seeing him again soon. She heard Teke pull back the 9 mm's slide, rudely snatching her from her peaceful thoughts…felt the vibration against the back of her skull as the action chambered the first round…the first of a few bullets she was sure would be inside of her brain and beyond in less than a few seconds. Barren squeezed her eyes shut tightly, holding on to the image of her brother.

"Sorry Duncan…I tried." Barren whispered tremulously just before the earsplitting blast from the gun cut through the darkness.

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_**Tuesday 8:40 p.m.**_

**_December 23rd_**

_**Rose Garden Arena**_

_**Portland, Oregon**_

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"He's a pretty stubborn old man…I'm sure he'll pull through just fine." Randy Orton stated, as he stretched his long, muscular arms over his head giving in to a yawn that hinted toward his exhaustion, a result of the rigors of his WWE traveling schedule.

"He will…" the affirmation came from a seated Dave Batista who nodded and viewed Randy through the slight tint of his trademark sunglasses, that he as yet had not shed. "He's a tough old bird."

The two men had been referring to the recent heart attack and subsequent double bypass surgery that Randy's father, Bob Orton had undergone. The travel schedule had kept Randy away for so long, and he couldn't help but feel a measure of guilt for not having been there when his father had succumbed to the attack. It was little consolation that the landscapers had been present and seen him take the fall from the swing on the wide sweeping porch in front of the ranch that Cowboy Bob Orton called home. But it was a damned good thing that they had…the paramedics had credited the quick thinking of the landscapers with their CPR and their call for help, for saving his life.

Dave slipped his suit coat onto a padded hanger and slid it with smooth ease over the clothing bar in the open side of his locker. "Two days till Christmas…" He noted, placing his sunglasses in their case and then the case into his bag. "If you don't have plans, you can always come spend it with us." He offered.

"I wouldn't wanna impose." Randy shook his head and sank his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"It's not an imposition." Dave admitted. "If I promise not to let Nancy cook, will that seal the deal?" He joked affectionately, reaching over to splay one hand on his wife's prominently round belly. He was rewarded by a sidelong glance complete with an arched brow and a good-natured wink. Everyone was well aware of Nancy's lack of skills in the kitchen and fortunately she never pushed the issue and attempted to become a culinary genius. She was simply content to let her husband cook for her when he was in town and to eat take-out food or ready made microwaveable entrees when he wasn't.

"I'm sure you two have your hands full already." Randy grinned…he liked the lighthearted repartee that the pair shared…it was a definite spark in their relationship…a relationship that had gone through hell and high-water in the very beginning but had made it through just fine. It gave him hope for his own future, despite the fact that his fiancé, Samantha had called off their engagement only hours prior to tonight's show, citing Randy's frenetic itinerary as her reason for doing so. "Besides I should probably head back to Mom and Dad's and help out around there during my time off." He knew his help would be appreciated even if it wasn't imperative. Most likely his sister would have already whipped the household into shape without him. She was a master of taking situations into hand with military precision…she was also a master of making Randy feel like a third wheel and reminding him of it every chance she got.

"Are you sure?" Dave offered again, and then glancing sideways at his wife, he joked again. "I _think_ there'll be enough food…maybe."

Randy watched Nancy grin and roll her eyes and then his gaze fell to the roundness of her belly and he smiled. "Oh, that's right…" He said, nodding. "You _are_ eating for two, huh?"

"Well—" Nancy began, but was interrupted.

"She was eating for two _before_ she was pregnant." Dave snickered, unable to resist another genial jest about his wife's hearty appetite.

"You're due, like any day now, right?" Randy dared to touch her stomach gingerly with a flat palm, staring with a mixture of wonderment and fear.

"No, I have another five weeks." Nancy informed him.

He felt the slight tremor of movement where he had placed his hand, and his expression changed to shock and then amazement. "That's so incredible…" He assessed almost wistfully. "Do you know whether it's a _he_ or a _her_?"

"It's a _her_", Dave piped up as he shuffled through one of his bags.

Nancy furrowed a brow. "It could be a _he_. We don't know yet."

"I have a track record of making _hers_…trust me it's probably a _her_." Dave announced with certainty, holding up two fingers to indicate Vanessa and Audrey, the two _hers_ to which he was referring. "And since she won't show us on the sonogram…we can't verify, but I'd bet money that I'm right."

Randy felt a twinge of sadness over his break-up, watching the prospect of marriage and family fading farther into the future. He pulled his hand away from the firmness of her belly. "Well whatever you have…I'm sure it'll be healthy…and spoiled rotten."

"If I have anything to do with it, _he_ will be." Nancy said. "And if you change your mind about spending Christmas with us…you know you're always welcome." She patted his arm and then turned to her husband to give her 'goodbyes'. "My flight leaves in about an hour." She told Dave.

Randy stepped away from the pair to give them a moment of privacy and resumed the task of gathering his own belongings, readying himself for the long drive to his family's home in Missouri.

"Showing up here was a nice surprise…" Dave told her, enfolding her in an embrace. "But you're _not_ supposed to be flying this late in your pregnancy." He chided and kissed her forehead.

"I know, but it was only an hour flight…" She smiled, "Besides, I feel great."

"You look great." He told her quietly, touching the strap of her white satin top. "Is this new?"

"Old—made new." Nancy boasted. The white satin top had been a vintage wedding gown that she had restyled to use as a maternity top, by shortening it and altering the empire waistline. Her talent for restyling clothing had turned into a full fledged business. Nancy had been the former Wardrobe Manager for RAW and then Smackdown, but due to the influx of design requests and contracts with different designers, she had been forced to pull away from the WWE and open her own design firm working out of their home.

The demand for her services and the ensuing workload had spawned a necessity for more studio space and more man power, forcing Nancy to hire her former assistant Max Hadaway to oversee the out of town affairs. The high volume of design orders were much easier for her to manage after Dave had gifted her with the addition of studio space that he'd acquired by purchasing the adjoining condo and having it remodeled for her as a surprise. He had believed in her talents and invested in them…and his belief had rewarded him not only with a very happy wife, but a substantial monetary return to boot.

"You're so good at that." He grinned, fingering the hem of the fabric, appraising it, realizing to his dismay that he didn't really want her leaving, not this late and not alone.

"I need to call a cab, so I can get back to the airport." She smiled. "I have to get the girls from Angie's tomorrow morning…I promised them that we would get our last minute shopping done."

"Randy?" Dave spun around addressing his good friend. "You're heading out, I-5 south, past the airport, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Randy responded, making an attempt to stack his bags. One which became futile when his suitcase, offset in weight, kept tipping over.

"You could drive Nancy…couldn't you? Just to the airport?" He suggested. "I don't want her in a cab this late."

"No problem." Randy said nodding. "I'll even take her to the gate if you want."

"I appreciate that." Dave said turning to his wife, kneeling down to whisper unintelligible words to his unborn child.

Nancy's hands fell to his shoulders, as she smiled at his habit of telling secrets to their child. "What are you saying?" She asked looking down on him.

"Just stuff." He told her winking, content to keep his secret. "I will see _you_ tomorrow around lunchtime." He framed her face with strong hands, ignoring the presence of his friend, and grazed his lips gently over hers. "Call me the minute you land." He instructed her and then prepared to hand her over to his friend. "Randy." He began as he placed his hands on Nancy's waist and peeked over her shoulder. "Take good care of my girl." Dave then reluctantly let her leave.

"Oh…don't worry." Randy began in his most cocky and self-assured voice. "I'll take _very_ good care of your girl." He then lifted his own bags and grinned as Nancy smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Keep your hands off my wife." Dave smiled and said in jest, tipping his chin. The two of them had a running joke about how Randy always got the girls and that if not for the fact that Nancy was expecting a child, he would have already stolen her away.

Nancy winked and said one last goodbye, before passing Randy, who also winked back at Dave and wagged his brows suggestively, inciting a snort from the man himself and a small wave as he watched his wife and best friend retreat through the locker-room door.


	2. Chapter 1

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 1

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Never knock on Death's door: ring the bell and run away! Death really hates that!" – Matt Frewer, _as Dr. Mike Stratford in "Doctor, Doctor"_

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Dave Batista smiled and stretched his arms, resuming the task of readying himself for his match. It had been a nice surprise, arriving at the arena to find his wife waiting for him, milling around in the wardrobe room chumming it up with her old Smack Down assistant, Lizzie, who was now the supervisor over the _Wardrobe Department_. Nancy had made the one hour flight to deliver the disheartening news that the third and final sonogram before her delivery hadn't revealed the sex of their baby…who was evidently too shy to let them see. It wasn't that they needed to know, just that _she'd_ wanted to know, that kept them going back for another chance to find out. But after tonight when Nancy had handed him the tiny black and white sonogram picture along with the news that she was just going to be patient, he had found he was somewhat relieved—deciding that he liked the element of surprise—that he would take what he could get where healthy children were concerned and that it didn't really matter to him what the sex of his child turned out to be.

He hung his white button up shirt on a hanger in his locker and slid the zipper of his bag open to retrieve his gear. That was when he spied a blue envelope lying on the top of his neatly folded wrestling trunks. He recognized the writing on the outside of the envelope to be Nancy's and he laughed softly, wondering when she'd had the chance to sneak something into his bag…he knew that it hadn't been in there before and that she must have done it when his back was turned. She was always doing things like that and he loved it—the constant reminders that she was in love with him—she had made him an _'affection junkie'_ and it didn't bother him one bit.

The letters on the envelope spelled _'Daddy'_. An appropriate title, but one he hadn't thought he would hear from anyone but the two Girls he currently had—his daughter's from a previous marriage. It had never dawned on him that at nearly 40 years of age, he would be on the threshold of another birth, but he wasn't averse to it either…in fact he was rather looking forward to it.

The envelope looked as if it might contain a greeting card, but strangely it was rather flimsy…felt quite empty. He furrowed a brow, wondering what joke she might be playing on him this time and with a lopsided grin, he turned the envelope over in his hands so he could open it. He slid his finger under the flap breaking the seal and then peeking inside, he found a lone sonogram picture…strange, she'd already given him one tonight. He lifted it up so he could get a better look, and though nothing seemed out of the ordinary for the moment, he stared closer. His wife's name was in the upper corner with the date. The same fuzzy black and white configuration which he knew was his child, dominated the landscape of the thin filmy paper. But the thing that caught his eye was the tiny white arrow pointing to a suspicious object in the center of the picture and the small digitized words that spelled out '_I'm a boy'._

"I'll be damned." Dave said, confirming to make sure that it was indeed Nancy's name at the top of the picture. It was…and now he was shaking his head in disbelief. "I'll be damned…" He repeated, his face splitting in half with a grin. He turned the picture sideways, trying to gauge for certain whether or not it was possible or simply a joke, but his eyes couldn't deceive him this time and clearly the proof was in the picture. "Sneaky girl…" He observed softly, thinking of his wife…smiling, he tucked the picture of his unborn son inside of his wallet, with an intense buoyant desire to pass out cigars to the entire roster. He shook his head again, sitting on the bench and checking his bag for anymore remaining surprises. He laughed softly, thinking of his comments about only being able to make girl babies. "Well, there goes my track record."

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She never felt the impact…her body never fell face first into the mud…her last breath never came and upon turning to determine _why_ she was even still alive, Barren saw the body of her assassin weave and then topple into the mud beside where she was kneeling. A deep and grotesque ditch was cut through the top of his head revealing more about him than she had ever wished to see. Barren panicked and her breathing became fevered at the realization that if Teke was dead—then that meant someone _else_ was there in the clearing as well. She sure as hell hadn't shot Teke…and that brought about the faint but disturbing possibility that the intentions of that 'someone else' hiding in the brush could very well be worse than Teke's. Her eyes darted wildly from left to right and peering into the lighted path cut by the headlights her fearful gaze locked on something. The silhouette of a man was barely distinct against the darkened shadow of the trees and wisely Barren pulled herself to a standing position, but not before the fingers of her handcuff-restrained hands curled around the cold, wet metal of the fallen 9mm that had first been intended for her demise.

"Barren…" He called out her name to abate her fear and to reveal his identity before she could raise the weapon on him and cut him down with a flurry of well aimed gunfire. He holstered his own weapon and stepped into the illumination of the headlights. "Don't shoot, Barren…"

"God, Owen…" Barren gulped back a sob and let the gun fall into the mud. She hadn't even been aware that he knew where she'd been taken, but she was thankful nonetheless. There was little time for her to embrace the man she had come to know as her lover; for he pushed her away as quickly as he had pulled her to him.

"I'm going to un-cuff ye." Owen explained, his deep accent laden with the heavy hint of an Irish brogue, giving away his true legacy and the fact that he'd been in the States less than ten years. He looked nervously toward the direction from which he had come. "And ye're going to have the opportunity to run." He tugged her into the light so he could fit the tiny key into the keyhole on the cuff.

"I was praying you'd come." Barren's chin shook as she spoke, somewhat from the cold and somewhat from the effort of holding back the tears of relief that threatened to fall.

"Sullivan sent me…he suspected that Teke would be angry if ye refused to tell him where the key was…he knew that Teke would kill ye." Owen explained as he worked feverishly to get the cuffs off, cluing her in to the news that Teke's expedition into the woods had been Sullivan's idea to scare the knowledge of the key's whereabouts out of her. "I was sent by Sullivan to stop Teke from killin' ye, he'll not be far behind…ye've gotta move." His thick brogue rumbled out along with a cloud reminding her again just how cold it was.

He tossed the cuffs aside and tugged his coat off wrapping it around her shoulders, regretful that he had no shoes for her bare and freezing feet. "Ye go north Barren, less than a half 'o mile to the road…I-5…stay 'longside the highway, but behind the cover of trees." Owen explained hurriedly, glancing once over his shoulder. "Don't turn back, no matter what ye hear…there's a highway exit just beyond the line of trees, exit 301…and a bag behind the railin', wrapped in plastic…Clothing and money inside of it. Get what we need and meet me in Ontario…the cabin…ye know the one."

Barren nodded, her eyes a mess of tears and confusion. "Come with me, Owen…" She pleaded. "I'm scared."

"Go." He told her, kissing her lips. He found them strangely warm despite the cold rain.

She clutched desperately at the front of his shirt as his hand came up between them producing a small metal key attached to a sturdy stainless steel neck chain. Her key! Duncan's key! Barren's gaze of perplexity eased suddenly by his smile and then his sense of urgency robbed her of the moment of peace. "Let no one find this…it's yers and ye know what must be done…if ever ye think that they come for ye, then drop it somewhere safe and come back fer it later...they can not catch ye with it…if they do it's _over_." His words were firm as he slid the chain over her head and watched as the key nestled deep in the valley of her breasts. "It's all we have…without it, we're dead…and then some." He pressed his lips firmly to her forehead afraid for her…afraid for himself. "Now go…"

"I can't…come with me!" Barren insisted, a lump lodging in her throat.

He shook her and his fierce expression, startled her. "He'll kill us both…do ye want that?"

"What if I mess it up?"

"Go!" He forced her body facing away and then pulled his gun from his holster. "Run Barren." He ordered gruffly as he stood over Teke's lifeless body…another faraway set of headlights was beginning to cut a path through the trees in their direction.

And so she did, barefoot and terrified, she bolted, darting through the break in the trees heading north as Owen had instructed—knowing that she was the only link to the truth…and as she ran, her already nightmare filled imagination was rewarded with the sound of five more shots being fired. No doubt Owen's cover-up for her supposed escape.

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The pyros discharged in succession, signaling his entry, along with the deafening sound of his entrance music…a symphony only rivaled by the huge pop from the crowd. But Dave Batista's enormous smile had less to do with his love for his career and his love for the fans, but more to do with the fact that in another month he would be holding his third and final child whom he now knew, via his wife's sneaky ruse, was a boy. His thoughts turned to her, the curly haired love of his life, who would likely be boarding her plane, bound for Seattle and the comfort of their warm home…where he wished he could be joining her.

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"I guess I just thought she knew what my career entailed…how much I would be gone…I thought I had explained it the right way." Randy explained as he gestured. Telling his friend's wife about the woes of his romance was not something he'd thought he would feel comfortable with, but her gentle reassurance that his fiancé—former fiancé—would eventually come around, had him spilling his guts to her on the way to the airport.

"And she may never wanna get back together, which gives me less and less hope of _ever_ having a family or someone to spend my life with…don't laugh either…I know Dave's told you about my escapades in the past. I know he's painted me as a player." Randy glanced sidelong at Nancy as the wipers tapped out a constant beat, sweeping the rain off of the BMW Roadster's windshield.

Nancy laughed even though he'd just asked her not to. "He never told me a thing." She fibbed innocently.

"Yeah, I'll bet." Was Randy's wry response, laced with a chuckle of his own. "I know it's probably too much to hope for, but I want what the two of you have."

"No two relationships are the same, but you'll have one that other people will envy, even if Samantha's not the one meant for you." Nancy said somewhat tickled that her relationship with Dave was Randy's model for the ideal situation. She smiled, patting his hand as it rested nonchalantly on the gearshift.

"Yeah, Dave's always telling me that the right one's out there somewhere…" He nodded, squinting so he could get a better view of the road. "He always says that I'll just run into her when I least expect it." He turned to look at Nancy, who murmured her agreement.

"That's how it happened with us…" She flip-flopped her hand. "Only it was the other way around…I sort of ran into him…well not _him_ exactly…" She laughed. "I ran into his date…but you know the story." Nancy thought fondly of her first meeting with the man that was now her husband and the father of her unborn child. Two steaming cups of coffee and her failure to watch where she had been going had put the two in one another's path and the rest was history. "Randy, what is that?" Nancy suddenly asked narrowing her eyes, when she spied something in the distance.

Upon the split second it took Randy to ponder her question, her realized that he had indeed almost missed his exit and he squinted his own eyes to get a better glimpse of what she had seen. Randy Orton had never believed in ghosts, but the blur of white in the road ahead was either a badly disheveled apparition or a garbage bag with arms and legs.

"I think that's a person…I'm not sure." Randy mused, leaning forward trying to abate the glare from the headlights as the beams bounced off of the fog. "Strange to be out in the cold this late" He further commented, but that wasn't what he'd been thinking, instantly his sense of alarm was blaring. The attempt he made at slowing the vehicle was not abnormal or hasty, yet the wheels spun as his right front tire skimmed the side of the road.

"Randy, I think that's a girl." Nancy announced with a slight undercurrent of panic. Her thoughts of telling him that she suspected the woman might be in trouble along with the fact that she wasn't sure that the woman wouldn't step out into the roadway, were cut short by the sound of a large volume of water hissing as it rushed beneath the undercarriage. The two of them felt the rapid vibration as the anti-lock brakes engaged and relief began to set in for a fleeting moment, but the dip in the highway's elevation and the puddle just inside of the white line, overtook the traction of the tires and sent the sports car wildly fishtailing.

Randy turned into the direction of the skid, but his jerky reaction overcorrected the turn and sent the BMW spinning violently out of control. He let off of the brake and again took control of the car long enough to glimpse the blur of white once more…only this time…_she_ was directly in the path of his car. Having only just stepped over the railing, likely the woman hadn't been prepared for the out of control vehicle bearing down on her. Randy slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting her and the car hydroplaned, sliding sideways…the back end of the spiraling car clipped the woman, even as she attempted to jump, sending her body tumbling like a limp crash-dummy over the trunk and then down onto the pavement behind the vehicle.

Realizing he'd hit the woman scattered his already shaken ability to think or react and the car continued on its course, mowing down the highway's exit sign, skidding over the exit ramp. The car slowed minimally as its tires plowed into the wet ground, but stopped altogether when it slammed into the stocky trunk of a northwestern Oregon Pine.

Endless moments passed before Randy emerged from the darkened cocoon of unconsciousness, only to find the suffocating presence of the airbag, as it lay nearly deflated against his torso. His mind scrambled to recall the exact nature of what had happened and he turned in alarm to his passenger. Shaking his head to clear his vision confirmed for him, that though _his_ airbag had deployed as it had been designed to, Nancy's had not and her body lay limply back in the plush leather bucket seat, her head lolled to one side like a garage-sale rag-doll.

"Nancy." He rasped, as he tried to push through the obstruction made by the deployed airbag. Deciding it was useless, he pushed the driver door, wincing as his head began to pound in time with the horrible creaking of the door on its damaged hinges. On unsteady legs, he groped through the rain and mud until he reached the passenger door, wrenching it open to free his passenger. "Nancy?" He asked again as he leaned in to appraise her condition. The lap belt, low on her belly, looked as though it had held fine and the chest strap, though effective could not have prevented the contact of her forehead with the dash.

He placed one large hand on her neck, to feel for a pulse as he glanced at the deep gash and the profuse dribble of blood from the artery in the center of her forehead. His fingers met with the warm stickiness of blood on her neck where it had already dripped from the open wound on her head. He found the heartbeat weak but existent and knew from his military training that even though the risk of spinal damage was great if she were moved, the risk of her bleeding out through a main artery before an ambulance could arrive was greater.

He reached over her limp body and released the seat belt, he then made certain that her legs were not pinned nor crushed by the impact and he extracted her from the vehicle, carrying her to the top of the slight ravine and laying her down in the grass on the edge of the road, out of the path of possible traffic. Standing up again, he could see in the distance, the lifeless form of the woman he had hit…knowing that she too was most probably mortally injured. It was the one time in his life when he had to make a choice of whom he would save…both women needed his help…both could die if left unassisted. But Randy knew that saving Nancy's life meant that he would be saving the life of her unborn child also and so for a guilt ridden moment he knelt beside the body of his best friend's wife and pushed the thoughts of the dying mystery woman out of his mind.

Randy palmed his cell phone, and dialed 911, tucking the phone between his ear and cheek…in the meantime, he rolled his jacket using it as a pillow to support Nancy's neck. Everything became a blur of clinical procedure as Randy placed his huge palm, flat in the center of her forehead, applying pressure to stem the rapid flow of her life's blood. He spoke the necessary information to the operator, requesting an ambulance, telling the operator of the possible injuries and that his passenger was pregnant and another woman was down more than 50 yards away with unknown injuries. He left the connection open as instructed, but opted to lay the phone down on the ground so that he would not be hindered by it.

There was no physical or verbal response from Nancy as he spoke to her, trying to rouse her with reassuring words and Randy was struck with sudden fear, that if she were losing blood and her oxygenation levels were going down, then it stood to reason that the child inside of her could also be in duress. He reached his free hand out to place it on her stomach, just as the lights of the ambulance flashed and glimmered off of the wet roadway and the sirens filled his ears. He felt the flutter of movement beneath the blood covered palm of his hand and relief washed over him at the reflection that some kind of movement in there was good, because it meant the baby was still alive…at least for the moment.

"Hang in there kiddo…just for a little while longer." He said in a low voice, noting another blessed quiver of movement.


	3. Chapter 2

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 2

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Brave men are all vertebrates; they have their softness on the surface and their toughness in the middle."

G.K. Chesterton

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He could do little more than watch as the paramedics shuffled out of the ambulance with their equipment in tow, strangely calm, prepared to do what they did best…and even as he tried desperately to explain to them the nature of her injuries, they began ushering him away from her, not caring much of what he spoke. Randy Orton pulled his hand away from the bleeding wound in her head as they instructed and stood back as the team methodically began to secure her in a neck brace and load her onto the backboard and then the mobile stretcher.

Another ambulance not far in the distance had already halted, sirens blaring and lights still flashing intermittently, with a team piling out to assist the unknown woman. And Randy Orton standing aside, defeated with blood on his hands and clothing couldn't help but wonder who the woman was, if she were even still alive…why she had been in the road in the first place. How in hell had all of this happened?

He wanted to help Nancy, too, wanted to find out if she would be all right but as he piped up to speak, he was ushered out of the way with none of his questions answered, none of his ministrations desired. Once again, the familiar feeling washed over him…the feeling of _not_ being needed. And so absorbed in his thoughts of being rejected was he that he almost missed the nurse's sharp verbal bark as she hung her head out of the back of the ambulance with a look of irritation and demanded that he either get in or get out of the way, so they could back up.

He climbed into the ambulance with numbness taking up residence in his mind and body and watched as they pierced the skin of her arm with the needle starting an I.V. They lifted the soft satin fabric of her shirt and wrapped a fetal monitor belt around the expanse of her bare belly and he found he couldn't look without feeling immense guilt…guilt for their circumstance and guilt for the tragedy having happened while she had been entrusted to his care.

Randy knew all of the technical terms as they were spoken into the CB by the driver…radioed back to the waiting team in the hospital emergency room…he'd heard those terms before during his time as a military medic, but everything flew by so rapidly that it was difficult for him to process anything. He heard the heartbeat and saw it register on the monitor telling the team that the child inside of their patient's womb was still very much alive.

"Very strong heartbeat…" He heard the female nurse say, with a small smile of relief, even so the smile slipped away as if it had never been there. She spoke out loud to try to wake Nancy, but to no avail. Sadly the nurse seemed to be resigned to the notion that Nancy would not be waking anytime soon.

He watched as they further poked and prodded her, checking vitals, attaching blood oxygen monitors to her finger and stifling the flow of the wound so that the laceration could be stitched at the hospital. Portland Oregon's _Health Sciences Center_, That's where they were heading…it's what they had said, but he'd barely heard. Randy was frozen watching the nurse as she checked to see if Nancy's pupils were fixed or dilated.

There was the slimmest glimmer of relief in the nurse's eye and that told Randy little more than he already knew…she was still alive and so at least he had a starting point when he called Dave…called him to tell him what? Tell him that his wife, who had been fine when she'd gotten into his car, was now possibly on the verge of death? Tell him that she could have mortal injuries? It wasn't a phone call that he was looking forward to making and even if the collision hadn't been his fault, he wasn't sure that Dave would see it that way.

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Dean Frye, the young EMT, worked quickly feeling through the slight mask of blood for a pulse. The woman was remarkably intact despite the recent collision with the BMW that was still imbedded in the tree not far away. He'd half expected to see her in pieces, but she wasn't…she most likely had only been skimmed and sent rolling. Despite the small amount of blood on the outside of her body, he knew that she could be bleeding internally and so he wasted no time.

Dean felt the pulse, strong in the vein just under the tender skin of her neck and his hand grazed a thick, stainless-steel, ball chain. And he decided that it would be better to get that off as soon as she was in the van and stabilized. After that he could sack up her belongings, along with what he saw lying not far from her body. If he did it, he could be sure that she retained all of her property, that it would be put in the hospital security safe until she could awaken and claim it…If she awakened.

His team worked loading her onto the stretcher after securing a neck brace and placing her on a backboard to minimize possible spine injury. The team lifted her into the ambulance with practiced ease. They would follow the other one that had just been dispatched and retrieved the other accident victims. With fluid effortlessness, Dean began to perform the necessary procedures to stabilize the woman's condition, feeling truly empathetic…it was obvious that there were other injuries, ones that had been inflicted before she had been hit; bruises that had already blackened…and he couldn't help wondering what might have happened to her.

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Scribbling down the license plate of the BMW and then sliding the folded business card back into his shirt pocket, Sullivan turned to Owen and regarded him through the soft veil of drizzle.

"Of all the damn luck." Sullivan remarked on a frustrated sigh his accent much less pronounced than Owen's. He then slid his ink pen back inside the pocket and pointed toward the road. "Tell me again Owen…what in the hell happened?"

Owen didn't miss the look of skepticism that flickered across the countenance of the older man who rounded him slowly in the spotlight made by the headlights of the two SUV's. "I told ye, already." Owen said not bothering to look behind him when Sullivan stopped just inches from his back.

"Well, then pretend I'm an idiot and tell me again!" Sullivan blasted, sending a rush of hot air from his mouth, making a massive cloud in the air.

Owen gritted his teeth and then chose his words carefully. "Teke was going to shoot 'er and I did as ye asked…I stopped him."

"And yet she somehow got away…barely clothed, in the cold…with no shoes." Sullivan reminded him. "How is it that you couldn't catch _her_?"

"I shot fer her backside, but I missed." Owen lied. "Twas dark."

"Five times you missed?" Sullivan grinned, shook his head as he dropped the magazine from Owen's gun to apprise the number of missing bullets. "Now answer me how you shot Teke from nigh on 25 yards away, and dropped him like a stone with one bullet…in the _dark_…yet Barren, was no more than ten feet away, restrained and weak, and you missed?" Sullivan slammed the magazine back up into the butt of the gun and angrily pulled the slide back, chambering a round. He jabbed Owen's own weapon into the side of his head. "We fought together in Dublin, Owen…in the revolution you and I…and you killed countless people." Sullivan confirmed the memory for him. "You're a deadeye with a weapon, Owen and so you're a goddamn liar! Don't talk to me as if I've not seen you in action!"

"What do ye want, Sullivan? I fired warning shots and she didn't stop…of course I could have killed her but ye want the key? Do ye not!" Owen glared, as the weapon pressed ever harder into the side of his head, causing him to have to lean his head nearly sideways. He was desperate, but not desperate enough to give away the fact that Barren already had what it was they wanted. Especially since he had witnessed the aftermath of the crash…seen the ambulance take her away after the others had been taken and since he knew now that Sullivan had concrete evidence of where she was, or would be. The key itself would be easy pickings should he reveal his secret. "Let her think she's escaped…ye can follow her and she'll lead ye right to it."

Sullivan nodded his head, giving the impression that he agreed. "If she lives…You may have failed, but Fate, gave us helping hand. In the form of an out of control car…damn fine luck I'll say." He said sarcastically as he turned to another of his cronies and handed the folded business card to him. "Track that plate and see who the BMW is registered to and then get back with me…we might need that information later"

Owen remained motionless, until Sullivan turned to him, holding the weapon by the barrel, he handed it back to Owen. "Ride with Douglas…give it a few hours and then go to the hospital and post your ass outside of her room until we know whether she's dead or alive."

Reluctantly Owen climbed into the front seat of the Cadillac STS, the one that had taken Barren into the woods, and then Douglas flopped into the passenger seat without a word. A nod and a shrug showed that the two had silently agreed to leave Teke's body in the wilderness, knowing that the caddy would be taken back to the detail shop tomorrow and completely wiped clean of any epithelial evidence of Teke. Owen felt no remorse, not because he was cold or desensitized to killing, but because he loved Barren and Teke had intended to kill her, key or no key.

Owen backed carefully in a tight circle and then drove slowly from behind the copse of trees, back down the path that Teke had made—back toward Interstate 5…the hospital…Barren and the key.

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"I just found out tonight." Dave Batista told Chris Benoit, as his friend turned the tiny sonogram picture sideways and smiled.

"Congratulations, man." Benoit nodded. "Definitely a boy…at least you're not outnumbered three to one anymore."

"Oh, yeah…no kidding." Dave laughed softly, fondly reminded of the fact that he didn't even have space in his master bathroom to get ready. His wife and oldest daughter had commandeered the counter space for their own needs. On the days his daughters came to stay with them, he could often find Vanessa sitting cross-legged on the marble countertop chattering away to his wife while she got ready.

This forced him to have to seek out the other bathroom which was usually strewn with clothing from both of his daughters and muddy soccer gear belonging to Audrey…but he wasn't overly bothered by the inconvenience, because Nancy usually had the mess in hand before it grew out of control, but mostly because it meant that his family was together…even if he did have to shower at odd hours and dry off occasionally with a hand towel because his daughters had used all the bath towels. And _he_ could live with the entire hullabaloo because _they_ were what he lived for, even if he ended up inadvertently walking through a cloud of perfume every now and then. And now he would just have to teach his son how to live with it too.

"Are you ready for sleepless nights again?" Benoit asked, smiling as he handed the picture back to Dave, who protectively tucked it back into his wallet.

"I'm ready for all of it." Dave announced, as the phone on his hip vibrated. The call would likely be from his wife who had probably just now landed in Seattle. He tilted the phone up but the number on the caller ID was not the familiar digits of Nancy's cellular, instead the seven digit number was prefaced by a Portland area code. She was probably calling from the airport to tell him her flight had been delayed, in which case he was fully intent upon canceling her flight himself, picking her up and taking her back to his hotel to do unspeakably naughty things to her for her earlier treachery. He smiled at the prospect of an interlude as he lifted the phone to his ear.

"Flight delayed, huh?" Dave's low voice rumbled through the receiver, but it was not his wife's voice that responded.

"Dave." Randy's voice trembled, as he held the payphones earpiece.

"Randy." Dave furrowed a brow confused. "Was Nancy's flight delayed? I noticed you're still in Portland."

"We're…not at the airport…" Randy answered, afraid of what he knew he must reveal. "Uh, we're…at Oregon Health Sciences…it's uh, on Southwest Sam Jackson Park Road." He read the address from the business card that he'd taken from the triage desk.

Dave felt as if the floor had opened up and swallowed him whole. "What's wrong with her?" His voice was tight and he had the inclination to panic as he shuffled to gather his bags. "Is she in labor?" He knew that it was still early for her to be giving birth…furthermore he knew that she would have called him before going to a hospital, she would have called the minute she knew…she wouldn't have let Randy call for her.

"No, Dave…" Randy said, swallowing in an effort to rid himself of the lump in his throat. "We had an accident…on the…" He paused to take a breath. "On the highway and we hit somebody, a girl…I was swerving to miss her, but the road was wet and then we hit…uh, we hit a tree." He let out a breath and leaned against the wall closing his eyes.

"Is she…okay?" Dave asked hesitantly as he allowed Chris Benoit, who had sensed the problem through the scattered dialogue, to finish lugging his bags out into the hall, even as he tugged on his coat.

"She's alive…but uh, Dave…you need to get here." Randy was verging on tears, but he held it all in, the way he always did.

Dave Batista confirmed that he was on the way and hung the phone up, keeping his dread in check for the moment. He accepted the ride that was offered by Chris Benoit, knowing that he couldn't have concentrated on driving at the moment.

Nothing of consequence transpired as the car sped past a line of trees on the highway toward the hospital. There was nothing but him and his incredible fear as he sat rigid in the passenger seat. Running over the scenarios in his mind only added fuel to the already blazing flame that was his terror and he could feel himself verging on a range of emotions that darted between horror and rage. He shouldn't have let her go, let her leave…he should have gone with his original thinking and kept her there so she could ride home with him, in the morning. But because his daughters had been waiting at Angie's house for her and because of the bond that Nancy had with them, and the last minute shopping they had planned…and because of the promises that she had made to his daughters…ones she never would have broken, because she was true…he'd foolishly consented.

And so he'd let her go…with Randy…trusted her…with Randy. And now, because he hadn't exerted some authority, argued with her a little more stiffly about flying so late in her pregnancy…because he hadn't just said, "No and that's that"…she could be badly hurt. And the baby? Dave couldn't let himself think about the baby, because then he'd have to consider the possibility that they could lose…_him_…and after months of interacting with a baby that he couldn't even see, only feel and after just now finding out that he could finally put a name to the mystery baby…losing _him_ was something he refused to accept. And so he shuffled the thoughts around, began the process of thinking positively…convincing himself that she would be fine…and his son would be fine…and Randy…well that was another matter, altogether.


	4. Chapter 3

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 3

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"_Perhaps extreme danger strips us of all pretenses, all ambitions, all confusions, focusing us more intensely than we are otherwise ever focused, so that we remember what we otherwise spend most of our lives forgetting: that our nature and purpose is, more than anything else, to love and to make love, to take joy from the beauty of the world, to live with an awareness that the future is not as real a place for any of us as are the present and the past."_

_Dean Koontz_

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Owen was fairly gritting his teeth by the time he reached the main road, his concern for Barren hidden under a well contrived poker face. One hand was on the steering wheel, the other in the best possible place should Douglas have an inkling to attack him. Inches from his firearm, his fingers itched to pull it free, but he did not.

Douglas seemed to be concentrating on the road ahead, but Owen knew better…he knew that anyone contracted by Sullivan for the job of protecting Congressman McCaughey, or any of the other questionable jobs for which they might be used, would likely not be caught off guard. He knew Douglas might appear nonchalant, but he was as lethal as any would be assassin and rapid in his assault when provoked.

Neither man seemed to have a desire to speak for the better part of the drive, but soon Douglas was struck with the need and so he spoke up.

"Do you think that Barren was run down because she couldn't see the car or because she had a hard time runnin' with her hands cuffed?" Douglas didn't face Owen when he asked the question, his voice rattled out on a rasp that suggested he was a heavy smoker, though Owen had never seen him with a cigarette.

"I couldn't say." Owen stated as he took the freeway exit that would lead him to the hospital district.

"Might be hard to remember…" Douglas nodded, reaching into his jacket pocket. "Does this help?"

Immediately Owen realized his error when Douglas dangled the handcuffs that had been cast aside after freeing Barren from them.

Owen shrugged, "Well I guess that rules out one of yer assumptions."

"I guess so." Douglas confirmed. "So were you planning on letting her go before or after you fucked her?"

A laugh passed his lips and Owen caught the slightest movement of Douglas' arm from the corner of his eye. "Yer smarter than ye look, Doug…ye've got me dead to rights." He hated the pun and he silently noted that he would be just that if he didn't act soon.

The subtle grasp of the knife under his parka, Douglas waited for an opportune moment…a stoplight perhaps, so that they didn't crash and burn when he slit Owen wide open, but they were still on an empty access lane just off of a dead freeway and moving at a fairly fast pace.

"Are ye plannin' on fightin' fair, Doug?" Owen asked knowing that the big man would already have eager fingers on the hilt of the knife…he could have guessed even if he hadn't seen the movement.

"Owen, if you reach for your gun, I'll cut you from your throat to your balls." Douglas warned calmly, no inflection when he spoke, he could have well been joking…but Owen knew better.

"And if ye pull that dagger, I'll split yer head in half with a hollow point bullet." He smiled as if he meant no ill will, but with the fingers of one hand grazing the butt of the gun in his holster and the other on the wheel, he had every intention of following through.

"I'd say we're at an impasse…a Mexican standoff, only we're both Irish." Douglas snorted as he made a halfhearted attempt at wit, but it fell flat.

"Not true." Owen said, suddenly seeing his opportunity. "_I'm_ Irish…and _yer_ just in the wrong place at the wrong time." His elbow flew quickly, connecting sharply with Douglas' jaw. More than once he rammed his elbow into Douglas, trying all the while to keep the car under control. He slammed on the brake pedal and the action sent the Cadillac swerving awkwardly onto the shoulder of the lonely road, skidding to a halt.

A full-on, closed spaces battle ensued, with Douglas pulling out the knife, prepared for a downward slash, but his arm was blocked, and Owen's fist to Douglas' nose prevented a deadly knife wound. Overpowering the massive fellow Irishman was proving difficult for Owen and he found himself desperate to prevent the larger man from gaining access to the gun in his holster. The fierce struggle continued for several more seconds, with Douglas having the upper hand, but Owen shifted his body, tugged the seatbelt from around Douglas' sternum and wrapped it around his neck securing it behind the headrest with one hand, while the other, tugged his holster upward and fired the weapon without unsheathing it.

The unseen bullet ripped through the bottom of the holster casing and dove into Douglas' belly…going deep and because it had been a hollow point, shredding everything in its path. He knew the deployment came with enough force that it would be lethal, but he hadn't counted on the bullet being unhindered by the organs and passing through each in turn, lodging itself in the seat. He knew when Douglas stilled for a moment that the bullet had likely severed his spinal cord, low in the back. He knew that if he had turned the man over he would have found a sizeable hole in his broad back…mostly he knew that he'd better finish the job and get the hell out of there. The shock in Douglas' eyes was quickly extinguished…his cobalt irises darkened by the dilation of black sightless pupils, when Owen pumped one more round into his head and exited the vehicle.

Tonight hadn't gone as he'd planned. Nothing since the arrival of Barren O'Neal had gone as planned, for that matter. He certainly had never intended to fall in love with someone he'd been sent to kill. He'd only been required to seduce her so that she could be used for leverage should her brother Duncan O'Neal decide to go to the authorities with information about Congressman McCaughey.

But Owen had quickly learned two things. Barren O'Neal was as close to a soul mate as he could get without looking into his own spirit…_and_ he had learned that an alliance with the lovely flame-haired woman could help him in his endeavor to break free of Sullivan and stop the illegal funding of the _Irish Reformist Party_, a front for Dublin based mob activity. It was, for lack of a better term, an underground reformation on Irish soil whose illegal activities were heavily subsidized by monies from the Congressman himself and backed in secret by an influx of resources from American campaign contributions.

It was all rather simple in theory, but proving it was another undertaking…and that was where Barren had entered the picture. It wasn't supposed to have been _her_, not in the beginning anyway…she wasn't the one who was supposed to die or be forced to run. She was a damned fitness trainer at a gym, nothing more…just the sheer DNA link between her and Duncan O'Neal was all it had taken for her to become a target. It was her brother Duncan who had been the one to stumble upon the discrepancy in the accounting. Poor bastard couldn't have chosen a worse career, or a worse time to be employed as a CPA for a Congressman. And because Duncan O'Neal was so bloody intelligent, he'd detected the missing money instantly despite the fact that it had been filtered through numerous channels in an attempt to hide it.

He'd gathered every shred of detail possible and hidden it away for insurance before he ever even approached the Congressman with the inconsistency. Somehow Duncan must have known that something would go awry, for he clued Barren in to the whereabouts of the evidence on the morning of the day he was murdered. And as intelligent as he was, he'd split the evidence up like a scavenger hunt so that no one person could have access to it all. Now Barren was the only one left with the knowledge and if she died…then the resistance to the IRP died with her. His family, her family…many in the military and in government in their homeland would suffer, once the root of the corrupted party took over. The only way to stop it from happening was to expose it. Bring the core of it into reckoning…prove that the Congressman's agenda was being fueled by a gross misappropriation of American government funds.

Owen walked down the side of the road, until he reached the lonely parking lot of the hospital. His thoughts were with Barren, but there was little he could do for her now, he could not take the chance that Sullivan's men might find Douglas's body and then track him down in the hospital, where they'd told him to go. He'd originally planned to be crossing the border sometime late in the afternoon tomorrow with Barren hot on his heels, but that wasn't realistic anymore…he'd be passing the border crossing late tomorrow night, with a prayer for Barren on his lips, ready to trek halfway across Canada to the cabin where they'd finally be safe.

_'And if she doesn't live?'_ The doubtful voice in his head offered. She'd live…she had to…he refused to accept anything less.

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By the time he'd reached the third floor of the hospital, he'd calmed considerably. Certainly his heart rate had gone down to an acceptable pace and his mind was much more focused, less muddled…maybe the prayer had something to do with that. The one he'd uttered in complete nonsensical silent vocabulary. God understood what he was trying to say, even if he had mixed everything up in the process.

They had already moved Nancy to the Medical Intensive Care Unit of the hospital, just a little over an hour into her stay. That meant she wasn't in an operating room being pieced back together…and so that was a good thing…or maybe it was bad thing…it all depended on how he chose to look at it. The triage nurse had pointed him and Chris Benoit, who had politely chosen to stay until he was no longer needed, toward the direction of the room in which she had been placed and with long, determined strides that left a much shorter Chris Benoit struggling to keep up, Dave covered the length of the long hall in no time.

His eyes found Randy Orton seated on a chair in the hallway, his tall and usually proud frame was hunched in the chair conquered, deflated…his head propped in the hands as his elbows rested on his knees. Dave Batista had wanted someone to blame…needed someone to hold responsible for the tragedy. His very human nature cried out for someone to pin to the wall…that's the way humans felt when something spun out of their control, and he reasoned he was no different.

But his inner sense of rationale overpowered the voice of his inner animal. Despite his urge to exact physical recompense on Randy…his conscience began reasoning that the accident was just that. An accident. There could be no blame on anyone or anything but the weather as far as he knew…though the details of the wreck were sketchy at best. Beyond that there was the factual basis that even though Randy was a prankster, he was unquestionably _not_ deliberately negligent.

Sure he'd been famous for a few incidents of gifting fellow wrestlers with bodily fluid and/or other indescribable matter in their bags. He'd passed his share of gas in a locked down vehicle where he was the only one in control of the windows. Randy was even famous for swiping Vaseline onto a few toilet seats. He was easily the adult, male counterpart of Dave's very own youngest daughter Audrey. But, even in light of all of that, Randy was Dave's friend and so he knew deep down in the place it counted most, that Randy would never knowingly, never intentionally harm another human being.

Dave could forgive, because there was nothing to forgive. It was just the way things had chosen to happen. He simply had to do the best he was capable of under the circumstances and let Randy know that he held no judgment against him for what had happened. He stopped a few feet from Randy who lifted his head, revealing the lackluster expression, tired eyes…guilt flooded his features as he stood, putting his hands deep into the pockets of his dress slacks. And he was reminded that he had only just barely washed Nancy's blood off of them.

"Dave…" He began. His name rolled off his tongue with remorse, as he fought to hold in the emotion. "They put her in there already…Damn, man…I'm sorry…I didn't mean for anything like this to happen." He held back the tears, but his chin quivered as he spoke.

Dave nodded, sensing the true nature behind his words. He could not hold a grudge against Randy…he could not be angry, because he knew that Randy meant what it was he was trying to say, even if he didn't have the calmness to put into words. "I know…" He pulled Randy by the shoulder forward and embraced him for a moment, patting his back he said. "We'll work it out."

"I tried to find out how she is, but they won't tell me anything…because I'm not…you." Randy explained, stepping back and releasing a deep pent up breath. A suspicious crystalline moisture graced his lower lashes, and he chewed the inside of his cheek in order to prevent the flow of tears.

"It's okay." Dave nodded and then squeezing Randy's shoulder, he excused himself to go speak with the doctor. "Chris could you hang out until…" he motioned not knowing how to finish the sentence. Until what? Until he knew whether she was going to live or die? Until he knew if his child would survive or cease to exist before he could even hold him? He dashed the thoughts and headed straight for the reception desk.

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…_She watched Duncan leap clumsily over a small cluster of flowers, laughing as he reached up in midair and snatched the Frisbee from its flight. His suit coat was still on, and the lapels were flapping hopelessly every time he ran to catch another of her botched throws._

_"You're gonna tear your dress pants!" Barren told him, as he jogged back over toward the picnic lunch._

_"And it'll be your fault when I do." His voice was musical in nature. Every word was pleasant when it resounded, as if happiness itself had filtered through his voice box in the form of a language. He was a fine singer too, but it had never occurred to him to anything more than karaoke. "Bad throws, Barren…every single one of them!" He kissed her on the cheek and dropped the Frisbee on top of her duffel bag. "Now let's see what you're all set to bribe me with." He reached over to dig through the food items, but snatched his hand back in a hurry when Barren smacked it away._

_"As if you think I would bribe you…" Barren laughed un-wrapping a ham and cheese hoagie and passing to over to him. "You should just be happy to help your baby sister without the aid of gifts or hoagies from Tom Albert's." _

_"They do have the best sandwiches in town…could make a person willing to help a certain bratty sibling." Duncan grinned and then bit deeply into the sandwich. He chewed through the meat and veggie-laden bite and then asked. "How many gallons, Barren?"_

_"Shouldn't you be asking how many rooms?" Barren laughed, finding it extremely funny how he sidled the issue at the very same time as he cut to the chase._

_"How many gallons?" He shook his head._

_"Six." She replied._

_"Oh hell…" He laughed nearly choking on a bite. "Barren, one gallon of paint covers four hundred square feet…two coats." He informed her, chewing and shaking his head in mock consternation. "Your apartment is only twelve hundred square feet…which means you have double the amount of paint you need for the job."_

_"Double the amount we need…" She corrected. "Besides, they were having a sale."_

_"Obviously not on 'common sense'" Duncan laughed, and then dodged Barren's wadded up napkin._

_"Will you help me, please?" She pleaded with her big brother. "I'm so sick of the white walls and the landlord said I could change it if I paint it back to the original color when I leave." _

_"You have double the paint…three gallons of it in the wrong color." Duncan said, wiping mustard off of the corner of his mouth. "Take the other three back, if they're shelf bought and get three gallons of the original color and then I'll help." He was always like that…always thinking of ways to save her some money…it was more due to the accountant in him than the big brother in him, but he was cooperative nonetheless._

_Barren squealed in delight and hugged Duncan. "We can start on Saturday."_

_She noticed the smile on Duncan's face fade as he stared off into space. His eyes held behind them a distinct air of worry and it piqued her curiosity, being as Duncan was normally so jubilant. "Barren?" He asked softly. "Do you ever think of moving? You know, going somewhere you've never been before?"_

_"I used to." She answered, tugging a stray thread on the picnic blanket. "Not since I met Owen, though…thanks to you…he's a great guy and I could easily see us being together for a long time."_

_Duncan didn't smile, he only nodded. "But would you…move if the chips were down? If you had to?"_

_Barren shook her head in confusion. "Duncan, why are you asking me this? She placed her water bottle aside and leaned in furrowing her brow. "Are you in some kind of trouble?" _

_"Working for McCaughey was the opportunity of a lifetime." Duncan announced softly as he wrapped the uneaten portion of his hoagie and laid it aside. "It was a chance for me to pay homage to our heritage…to support a man from our homeland…a good man." He said the last part with hesitation. "I always looked at the wars and the battles on home soil as a necessary evil, mostly because I had never been there to experience them like our father."_

_"Irish government was corrupt, you know they did they had to." Barren told him, basing her assumption on what their father had told them in bedtime stories._

_"It was important to me to be ethical here…to make our father proud." Duncan shook his head. "Lies Barren, it was lies…what he told us the government was never as corrupt as he made it out to be…it's the men in power underground who are crooked." _

_Her face contorted in confusion. "Dad wouldn't have a reason to lie…not to his children."_

_"McCaughey was a chance for me to take hold of a good future…it was never an agenda with me, Barren…you have to know that." He insisted. "But it's not that way with other people…Barren, the skirmish may be between Irishmen overseas, but it's being paid for by the American Government and they don't even know it."_

_Barren blanched and then looked over her shoulder as if she expected someone else to be listening. "Are you sure you should even be talking about something like this?"_

_"Listen, Barren…" He began. "The Greyhound Bus Terminal in Seattle…in the women's restroom…in locker 209…can you remember that? It's the numeric digits of your birth date."_

_"Of course I can remember." Barren shook her head in frustration. "Duncan, you're babbling."_

_"I've got to go." Duncan rose to his feet. "But I need you to hold onto something for me." He took her key ring from her hand and slipped a tiny silver key onto it._

_Barren nodded. "Yeah, sure." She began to pack up the remaining food. "So I'll see you Saturday for painting?"_

_Duncan didn't answer with a 'yes' or 'no', instead he leaned over and hugged his baby sister, kissing the top of her head fiercely. "I gotta get back before my lunch hour is over."_

_She watched him walk away, past random groups of people, noting how the heads of girls turned as he passed. He was handsome like their father…and a confusing babbler like their mother. "Hey Duncan!" She hollered and watched him turn. "You're a sorry excuse for a Frisbee partner!"_

_He smiled brightly and cupped his hands on either side of his mouth to throw his voice further. "And you have a lousy throwing arm!" He tossed up a wave and turned to resume his stroll to the car…_

A jolt as Barren was switched from the gurney to the bed almost afforded her the gift of waking from the dream, but the sedative that had been administered upon her arrival conspired to keep her shrouded in the darkness. And so she slipped…back again into sleep and the darkness and danger of her dreams.

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He shook the much shorter man's hand at the introduction…he didn't know why, because he certainly hadn't felt like it. Maybe he thought it would be impolite not to do so and so he obliged, when what he'd rather do was dispense with the formalities and get in to see his wife.

"I'm Dr. Blalock." The man informed him. "Before you go in to see your wife, there are a few things that I'll get out of the way."

Dave cleared his throat and stood waiting to hear the worst.

"The best news that I can give you straight out of the gate, is that she's alive and she's breathing on her own." The Doctor kept a serious expression. "We didn't have to put her on a respirator, which tells me a couple of hopeful things…she's not in a vegetative state." He continued. "The baby is also alive and remarkably the heart beat is normal, strong and from what I felt when I did the exam, the baby is still positioned properly and moving like crazy…I'll be able to tell more when we get a sono machine up here from the maternity unit."

Leaning against the wall as the doctor spoke, though a subtle action, was the key decision that prevented him from passing out. Dave could feel the dizziness and he willed it away as he listened.

"Your wife would have lost a substantial amount of blood, had not your friend…her friend…stopped the flow until the paramedics arrived." Something in the way that the doctor spoke led Dave to believe that he was confused about the nature of Nancy's involvement, or rather her non-involvement with Randy Orton. "We've eliminated that problem, but there is a potential for injury to the brain…as a result of the passenger airbag not deploying." He gestured across the sternum. "She was wearing a seatbelt and I'm guessing it caught most of the impact, or else we'd be looking at substantial facial fractures and that's not the case. Her sternum and collarbone are severely bruised as are her hips where the lap belt was…she's lucky."

Dave nodded. "How will you know about the injury to the brain? I mean when will you know?"

"Ideally I'd like to be able to do a CT scan with a radioactive contrast, basically infusing Iodine through an IV, but I'm not willing at this point to endanger the fetus, so I can do x-rays, or a CT without the contrast…it could prove inconclusive…but we'll hope for the best." He further explained. "The greatest determining factor is going to be time…and if she's lucky there'll be little to no swelling of the brain and she'll regain consciousness in a few days, but there's no way to tell…it could go completely the other way and if it does we'd be looking at making decisions for the safety of the baby."

Dave nodded. "I can see her?"

"Before you go in there I just want to let you know she has facial bruising and she's bandaged from the laceration in her forehead." The doctor warned. "But no broken bones, it's a mystery…she looks bad, but she's intact."

Dave thanked the doctor for his time, and pressed his hand to the lever on the door to her room.

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	5. Chapter 4

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 4

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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Life begins on the other side of despair.

Jean-Paul Sartre

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"God, Chris…" Randy said, sighing heavily and rubbing his face with both hands, in an effort to shake the haze of exhaustion and to rid his mind's eye of the residual image of both women lying on the highway. "I don't even know how the hell it happened…Nancy saw her in the road ahead; spotted her before I did, but we had no idea it was even a _woman_ until we got closer. She looked like a ghost, you know? Sounds stupid."

Chris Benoit placed a comforting hand on Randy Orton's back as the two of them sat in a grouping of chairs a few feet away from the door in the family waiting area. "It was an accident, the roads were wet you said, right?"

"I've driven on _wet_ roads before, Chris." Randy said, leaning forward in the chair. "I don't know what caused the car to go out from under me like it did." His exasperation and confusion was apparent in his tone and by the expression on his face. "We slid and I tried to correct…I straightened out for a second and then…_she_ was in the road…" Randy's eyes, red from the effort of holding in the emotion, closed involuntarily as he remembered the scene. "Chris I hit those brakes hard…too hard maybe…and we just went completely sideways…the whole fucking car. I hit her…not head-on but she went over the back end of the car…I can still hear the sound of her body, hitting the trunk." He gestured with his hands, appearing as if he had the inclination to vomit.

"Randy, you have to calm down and try to realize that it wasn't your fault that she was in the road." Chris explained as he tried to abate Randy's sense of guilt.

"It doesn't change the fact that I hit her, does it?" He turned a guilt ridden gaze on his friend and co-worker. "I couldn't even stop us from nailing that tree."

"That tree saved you from going over the embankment…" Chris reminded him. "What was it? Thirty-feet…fifty-feet to the bottom of that culvert? The tree saved your life."

Randy nodded. "The _airbag_ saved my life." He thought of his passenger. "Nancy's airbag didn't even work. She could die, Chris."

"You don't need to worry about that right now…because we're in one of the best hospitals in the country…so she could very well make it, too."

"I felt that baby _move_, Chris." Randy admitted in a choked whisper as he looked his friend directly in the eye. "I felt it in the locker room before the wreck…" His eyes filled up with tears and he cleared his throat. He shook his head as if to rid himself of the tears and then biting his lip he said. "I felt that baby move…when we were on the road…after…there was _life_ in there…somebody else's life." His lip quivered, and he again fought to hold in the anger and remorse. "I never took anything in my _own_ life seriously…and if that baby dies…if Nancy dies…I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

Randy knew that it wasn't just his own forgiveness he would be losing…it would be Dave's too. He let the tears fall, but he didn't weep…Chris's words, though meant for comfort were falling on deaf ears and he swiped at the tears angrily excusing himself from the waiting area, leaving Chris to spout his words of comfort to the wall.

Passing the empty nurse's station, Randy strode covertly down the hallway and upon finding the room that housed the mystery woman, he hesitated. Looking both ways down the hall of the intensive care ward confirmed for him that no one would be any the wiser if he went inside. Hand on the lever, he took a deep breath, let it out…and pushed the heavy door open soundlessly. The lights inside of the small room were dim, and the curtain around her bed was opened to reveal a sleeping body surrounded by countless softly chirping monitors.

An unauthorized peek at the chart resting carefully in the tray on the wall, told Randy that the woman had been listed as a Jane Doe…the medical jargon written on the chart informed him, that though the collision was serious, her injuries were not and therefore she was not likely to die anytime soon. He read on and soon realized that the biggest problem she had besides the bump on her head, was a fractured wrist…and he deduced that it must have happened when she tried to break her fall. She was lucky.

Randy slipped the file back into the tray and grimaced when he heard it scrape against the wall. He didn't want to wake her or draw the attention of anyone else. A few silent steps and he found himself at her bedside, looking down on her sleeping and battered body. He guessed that she was probably attractive under all of that mess, beneath the bruises and the cut lip…the marks on her neck. Strangely, it appeared to be an awful lot of marks for a collision that caused little more than a broken wrist. Randy let his eyes fall to the cast that had already been applied to her left wrist and he felt a measure of melancholy. _She_ was somebody's daughter, sister…wife? He glanced at the woman's other arm and couldn't help but notice the red and raw line that encircled the wrist…it looked as if something had been wound tightly around it…it caused him to wonder.

Randy couldn't help himself, he reached out to brush back a stray, stringy tendril of the crimson hair…he didn't know why he did it, it was just an impulse. Her face was soft when his fingers brushed against it, despite the ravage created by the wreck.

"Who are you?" He whispered, content even though he wouldn't get the answer. "I wish I knew why you were in the road in the first place…And I hope you know that I sure as hell didn't mean to run over you." His hand slid back into his pocket, and he sighed…why did he feel as if he owed her something…an explanation? Why did he feel like he should be staying in her room keeping a vigil for her? No, he shouldn't be feeling that way. Samantha…his heart was with Samantha…even if she had said she needed space. He clearly couldn't be thinking of unraveling the mysteries of another woman…even one he had run down in the middle of the highway.

"_Excuse_ me, Sir!" A sharp whisper from the door caught his attention. "_You_ can't be in here." A fierce expression was etched into the countenance of the young nurse as she crossed the small room in a few choppy strides and held her hand up with one long, elegant finger pointing him toward the door. "You need to leave now."

Randy nodded, somewhat embarrassed for having been caught and he shuffled passed the nurse. Exiting the room he came face to face with a tall, portly gentleman adorned with a brown uniform complete with a shiny silver star pinned to his pudgy chest. Behind the Sheriff followed two local police officers and another nurse with blood-work accoutrements, a rubber tourniquet and a very intimidating piece of paper.

"Are you Randy Orton?" The sheriff asked, sucking an unseen particle of food through his front teeth.

It was a simple question and Randy nodded, preparing for the obvious…an interrogation to find out what had happened. "I tracked you down by the plate on your BMW." The Sheriff announced proudly as if he'd unlocked the mysteries of the cosmos.

The sheriff then introduced himself as Don Kinsey and without giving credit to the other officers behind him, he cut straight to the chase and motioned the nurse behind him forward. She politely asked Randy to follow her to a chair behind the triage desk.

"Sir I just need for you to sign this consent so that I can take some blood for testing." The nurse was polite even if her face was riddled with a dire expression.

"Is there a reason you feel you need to test me?" Randy asked in confusion and with an unmistakable air of irritation.

This simple query caused the over inflated, egotistical sheriff to flare in anger. "You slammed a car into a tree out there on _my_ highway, after you ran over a pedestrian on _my_ highway! Now _that_ leads me to wonder how in the hell you were so blind you couldn't see her walking…maybe you were drinking." He wagged one pudgy finger in Randy's face. "And that's what this is meant to determine!"

"Are you serious?" Randy scoffed, wondering if perhaps he was unknowingly embroiled in an episode of 'Punk'd'. "You weren't even there…I wasn't drinking…I was giving my friend's wife a ride to the airport and I hit a patch of water!" Randy stuttered through his incredulous fury.

"_Friend's_ wife, huh?" The sheriff snorted, smiling. "Doesn't seem like your _friend_ is very happy about the whole thing right now, maybe he didn't know you were giving his wife a ride…maybe you hope that his wife won't wake up and be able to answer _his_ questions."

The innuendo wasn't lost on Randy and his head tilted sideways as his eyes widened in shock. "If you're insinuating that she and I…" He laughed, lifted his hand as if to halt the sheriff's speech and then finally nodded his head. "I might expect that from some backwoods sheriff…but you don't know shit about the situation…so I'll forgive you for that one." He remained as calm as he possibly could, despite his condescending tone, knowing that any outburst on his part was just going to make matters worse.

"You little son of a bitch! Right now I could pin you up with so many charges, it'd take the damned jaws of life to cut you down for your trial…so don't fuck with me!" The sheriff's angry shouting drew the curious stares of many of the staffers.

"Please Sir, just let me take the blood and then he can leave." The sympathetic nurse pleaded with Randy as she tried to edge between him and the sheriff to prevent an altercation.

Randy regarded her with his tongue inside of his cheek and an angry glare that softened when he saw her wide and concerned eyes. "Okay…take the blood, piss test me, whatever." He signed the consent with an angry flourish and as he sat in the seat he witnessed a self-satisfied smirk drift across the face of the Sheriff. An ever increasing desire to drop-kick the lawman was bubbling up inside of him and had it not been a felony to do so, Randy would have been more than tempted.

"When she's done testing the blood, then we'll talk…don't you go anywhere, now." The cocky look on Sheriff Kinsey's face incited a barely bridled wrath in Randy and he turned to face the wall in an attempt to keep his temper in check.

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"The car's listed under the name of _Randy Keith Orton_…the address is in St Louis Missouri." The young man informed Sullivan O'Thell. "The house is listed on the tax-roll under _Bob Orton_."

"Thank you Evan." Sullivan laid the paper aside gently and announced. "I don't think he's remotely involved with Barren O'Neal, but just to be on the safe side, we'll keep that information." He tapped the end of his pen against his chin, as he pondered why he hadn't heard from Douglas yet. If he thought hard enough, he would know the answer…Douglas was most probably dead on the highway. Knowing Owen for more than fifteen years had afforded him the luxury of being able to reach under his comrade's skin…to know what his next move would be. And yet, whatever luxury he considered _that_ detail to be…the reverse was uniformly true and equally disturbing…Owen knew Sullivan just as well, and so catching him might be harder than he had ever bargained.

"No word from the hospital…Owen or Douglas." Evan announced.

"There won't be word, Evan." Sullivan affirmed, glaring at the end of the ink pen as if something of great interest lay there. He lifted his somber gaze and noted the look of confusion as it flickered across Evan's face. "Gather Timothy and Franklin and go there yourself, but not tonight…do it day after tomorrow." Sullivan chewed absently on the end of the expensive ink pen.

"Sir, if we wait…" Evan began, hesitantly. "She could recover enough to get away."

"Trust me…she has to get away…at least she has to think she's getting away…otherwise she'll never go after the key." Sullivan explained, softly.

It was a hard pill to swallow…hunting Barren…and hunting his very finest and most trusted friend, tracking Owen all because of the smile of a blue eyed bewitching temptress. Owen had fallen for Barren the minute the two had met at the Congressman's re-election party. She was a hard one to miss…that woman. In the shimmering gray dress with her shiny flaming hair pulled back softly…the body of an athlete with just enough femininity that it could make a man's heart race and his blood boil with anticipation.

Sullivan had wanted her too, but not like Owen had…Sullivan was far more interested in having her body a time or two and then sending her on her way. But not Owen…Owen was a different story…he had fallen hard for her, especially after the formal introduction between the two over lunch with Barren's brother and when duty had called upon him to abduct her…Sullivan had almost banked on his betrayal. No matter what loyalties a man had to his country or his political party…it was almost a certainty that an ill-timed, romantic relationship could fuck it up in an instant—cause him to become a turncoat—all for the love of a woman!

"Keep an eye on the hospital. If she leaves tomorrow you'll follow her. If she stays, then wait another full day…" Sullivan felt his hatred for the woman begin to boil in his chest. Barren had been the wedge that had driven herself between his friendship, his brotherhood with Owen. He certainly didn't need the key if she were the only one who knew about it…did he? If Barren was dead, then it was likely that the information would not surface ever, or at the very least, not until after the new government was established on his home soil. By then McCaughey would have left the states to take over as Northern Ireland's leader and it wouldn't even matter anymore…at least it wouldn't matter as long as the information in question had nothing to do with Sullivan directly. Because if it did, then he had no choice but to keep the bitch alive. "In two days you'll march up in there and collect Barren, bringing her back to me…I'll deal with her from there."

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He closed the door gently behind himself so he could be left with some privacy. His blood was thrumming through his veins, pulsating in his ears and his mouth had gone dry at the prospect and trepidation of what he might find. Another small short prayer before he stepped forward through the dim room to his wife's bedside. Her chestnut curls were in disarray on the pillow and her skin, normally a shiny olive tone, was pale, almost lifeless. Dave certainly knew it was her, by the hair…by the round belly under the thin sheet that covered her. He noted with relief that even though her face was bruised, both eyes blackened by the impact, he could still tell who she was.

He dragged the chair next to the bedside as quietly as he could and sat down in it, leaning forward.

"It amazes me the extremes you'll go to just to get a nap." Dave teased, whispering in her ear. He smiled and pressed his lips against the side of her face. "Get all the rest you can now…" He said, a wave of fear coming over him, at the prospect of not having her. "Because in another month, neither of us will be getting any sleep." The normally deep and steady baritone was thick with sensation, almost choked. He thrust the fear aside again, willing his mind to obey what his heart knew…that she wouldn't leave him as long as the choice was in her hands.

He glanced at the mountainous belly rising up from the landscape of the sheet and let his mouth curve into a wistful smile. Standing up from his chair, he leaned over and pressed his ear to her abdomen. His hand covered the top of it and he felt movement…hard movement.

"I finally know who you are." He whispered to his son. "I even have a name for you…" He felt one warm tear slide from his eye, dripping from the tip of his nose and he watched it hit the blanket, soaking into the fabric. "I can't tell you yet, though…because I have to run it by your mommy first. You know, get clearance from the boss." He half expected Nancy to awaken long enough to ask _'What are you saying?'_, because that's how it always happened. Dave would corner her long enough to kneel and tell his secrets to the child in her belly and then withhold them from her after she asked, replying to her question with _'Just stuff.'_ It was his way of interacting with the baby without having to share his words with anyone else…it was _his_ time…especially considering he had so little of it lately. But she wasn't asking him about his secrets now…she wasn't smiling…he wasn't altogether sure she was even aware that he was there.

A noise from the doorway caught Dave's attention and he raised his head and wiped his eyes with thumb and forefinger before turning to see the source of the noise. A female physician, with a somewhat jovial expression entered the room, wheeling what he could only guess was an ultrasound machine. She positioned the machine on the other side of the narrow bed, and then extended her hand, introducing herself.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Emily Cage…I'm not the Obstetrician who's normally here at this hour." She smiled warmly, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "I just delivered triplets downstairs and when the nurse asked if he could borrow my machine, I thought I'd just come along and do the exam myself…I hope you don't mind."

Dave shook his head indicating that he didn't mind. "Triplets, huh?" he couldn't even imagine the work that three babies would entail. "Hard work?"

"All I do is get 'em out and send 'em home in good health." Dr. Cage submitted with a grin. "Whether the diaper goes on backwards or front ways after that is none of my doing." She laughed softly. "Actually, the truth is that I _did_ get the call to be at the ready when your wife arrived so that dependant upon what this ultrasound reveals…we can make a decision on whether to take the baby early or not…the triplets just happened to be an unexpected treat."

Dave nodded. "What about Nancy's X-Rays? When will they do those?" So much going on at one time…how could he possibly keep up with it all?

"Right after we're done here, they'll do those." Dr. Cage told him and then asked that he stay while she performed the 3-D imaging with the sophisticated machine. She drew back the blanket and lifted the gown, revealing the immense abdomen complete with bruises on the bones of her hips, just below where the lap belt had locked and held.

"Okay…bruises down here tell me that the belt didn't slip up over her tummy when it caught…that means that we might not have any broken bones on 'baby' in here." Dr. Cage explained, her voice hopeful as she rolled the covers up to just below the stomach, preparing to coat it with the mineral oil based jelly. As soon as the cold jelly hit Nancy's skin, Dave felt her finger jerk as he held her hand in his…hope flared up…she wouldn't have jerked at that exact moment if she hadn't been able to feel the icy substance. He knew her well…he knew she hated it when something cold touched her flesh. He was stricken with the sudden memory of her screams when he'd thrown cold water on her, over the glass door of the shower. Dave had done so, as a joke one morning after she'd stolen the last of the towels—Right out from under him…while he was in the other bathroom showering. He remembered the vicious, naughty words, too…the curse words that had flown out of her very lady-like mouth followed by a stream of idle threats…He remembered getting into that shower with her, as well as everything that came after that…the memory of it made him smile.

The probe touched her skin and he watched as the doctor began. "Have you ever seen 3-D ultrasound imaging before?" Dr. Cage arched her brow in inquiry.

Dave joked that the most he'd seen was a 3-D movie in high-school and then told the doctor that he'd been present for two of the standard sonograms that they'd had.

"Well, then you're in for a treat, because this is an awesome piece of technology." Dr. Cage turned the monitor on and began to explain the abilities of the imaging. "Whereas a normal ultrasound can tell us fairly generic info on the baby…this machine tells us things we could only learn by opening the body up." She slid the probe over the surface of her abdomen. "This is like looking through a window into the womb…you'll know exactly what your baby looks like before he or she ever comes out."

"It's a '_he'_." Dave told the Doctor…reminded again of the true reason for Nancy's visit to his locker-room tonight and of the fact that he shouldn't have allowed her to leave the arena with anyone but himself.

"You already know?" Dr. Cage slid the probe and upon clearly identifying the evidence of the baby's gender, she smiled. "Yep, we have a boy in there." She continued to stop and take random measurements by rolling the trackball and typing the appropriate numbers into the machine's database. "There is still plenty of fluid in there, so it looks like we're not leaking…and I cannot find a single broken bone."

He sighed almost out loud as he subconsciously rubbed the knuckle of his wife's left hand as he held it in his. "He's okay?"

"He's moving just fine, positioned just right…take a look at his face." The doctor grinned and pointed to the monitor.

Amazement cut like a bittersweet knife through Dave Batista as the 3-D image of his unborn son greeted him. A face so clear he might as well have been looking at the baby boy nose to nose. It brought a flood of emotions to the surface, ones he'd struggled to suppress just in case things didn't work out for the better. The tears dripped down his reddened cheeks, but he smiled anyway…wishing that his wife could see the tiny face, but at the same time pleased that he was the first to have witnessed it.

"Your son is fine…probably just a little irritated that he was woken up." The doctor announced after noticing the baby jerk when she emitted a few soft blasts of sound from the tiny sonic instrument. "He's growing at the perfect rate and he wasn't injured so now all we have to do is put our energy towards 'Mom'". Dr. Cage shook his hand and then gifted him with the disk and the tiny photograph of his son. Before leaving, she turned to face him. "Keep your chin up…as long as she's alive and breathing on her own, there's always hope, right?"

Dave watched the woman leave, and then he leaned again over the belly of his wife and told his son. "She says you're perfect…but I already knew that." He whispered.

He kissed her belly and then leaned in close to his wife's ear. "I wish you could have seen his face…he looks like Vanessa…let's just hope he doesn't act like Audrey."

His one-sided discussion was interrupted by the entrance of another nurse, announcing that she would be bringing in mobile X-ray equipment and politely asking him to leave for a few moments. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't argue when he was asked, the last thing he wanted to be was a hindrance to the people that he depended on to bring his wife back to normal health. Dave Batista brushed another kiss over her brow just below the bandage on her forehead and whispered "I'll be back in a few minutes…don't take off on me." He was only joking, because doing so lifted his spirits. But he knew that if she could hear him, then she would appreciate his attempt at humor.

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"Now that she's done with that." Sheriff Kinsey began, "You can answer some of my questions about your little…_accident_."

Randy turned a blank stare toward the lawman because he knew it would serve as an irritant to the man. "Is there a reason you're talking to me like I'm a two year old, or is that just how they taught you to interrogate when you went to _'Sheriff School'_?"

As expected, the man blew a gasket. "Lemme tell you something!" He stood toe to toe with Randy as soon as the tourniquet was pulled from his bicep and though the sheriff was tall Randy towered over him, looking down on him. "I run this county! I run the whole thing…the roads, the schools, the churches…I'm responsible for all of them! I got a lot riding on my shoulders!"

A sarcastic smirk tugged at the corners of Randy's full lips and he ran a hand through his deep brown hair. "Sounds to me like you need a vacation."

"I could arrest you right now." The sheriff spoke more placidly, quickly becoming wise to Randy's attempts to bait him.

A snort came out as Randy scoffed. "For what, being witty?"

"Listen, asshole…" Don Kinsey said in a low voice. "I think I know exactly what happened here, and maybe that lady's baby belongs to you and not her husband…maybe that's why your being so close mouthed about the whole thing…maybe _she_ was in your car because that's where the two of you meet and you're just lying about giving her a ride to the airport…now wouldn't it be convenient if she never woke and then you suddenly wouldn't have her to worry about? Is that what's runnin' through your head boy?"

It was obvious to Randy that not only did the Sheriff have the absurdly wrong idea about his association with Nancy, but he was now turning the tables and trying to bait Randy into a verbal explosion that would give the self-righteous sheriff reason to incarcerate him. "You said you traced me from my car's plate, right?"

Randy watched as the sheriff nodded and then he continued. "Did it ever even occur to you that a lot of your questions might be answered if you'd delved deep enough to find out what line of work I'm in?" Randy shook his head as a condescending smile drifted across his face. "I'm on the road ten months out of the year, and I've got more miles of highway under my belt than _you_ could rack up in a lifetime…And if I was going to have a secret relationship with someone it _damned_ sure wouldn't be with the wife of a man I travel with frequently…I may be a lot of things, but I'm _not_ a home wrecker."

The sheriff scowled fiercely as Randy continued. "I also realize that technology may not have made it to your county office yet, but the internet's a helpful tool. You should get someone to help you use it sometime, when you're not so busy calling the DMV and tracking down plates." Randy lent the comment just enough derision that it sent the already irritated sheriff into a tailspin of fury.

"Alright…maybe it's better for all of us if I just go ahead and arrest you on suspicion and take you in so that you'll be forced to answer my questions instead of dancin' around 'em!" He prepared to pull his handcuffs from the clip in his belt. "Besides I'm sure you're friend might appreciate the fact that you'll be somewhere where he'll get the answers to _his_ questions about what happened to his wife."

"Arresting him isn't necessary." A low and deep, calm voice rumbled from behind them; it had the effect of a gavel slamming into a pulpit and all heads turned. "I don't plan to press any charges." Dave Batista announced coolly, his eyes holding a dark stillness that suggested silent warning.

Randy's eyes locked on those of his friend and he was confused by the verbal announcement that was in such contradiction to the look on his face. Dave Batista might have appeared tranquil and composed to the rest of the world, but Randy knew better…he knew that look and he knew that it cautioned the world to back off.

Sheriff Kinsey quirked eyebrow in confusion, "You're not gonna press charges?"

Dave gave no indication of emotion, no smile, no frown, nothing but steely resolution. "Funny…I thought that's what I just said."

"Well, you know that even if _you_ don't press charges…my county still reserves the right to charge him with vehicular assault." The Sheriff informed Dave, grasping for a remaining shred of authoritative control.

"I'm sure you'll do what you have to." Dave announced. "But since I know my wife won't be willing to press charges and I'm not going to on her behalf…maybe you should put your energy into finding out whom the other woman involved in the accident is and why she was in the middle of _your_ highway at night in a negligee." Dave smiled when the sheriff appeared slightly ruffled. Dave had gleaned that tidbit of information from a gossipy group of nurses that he'd passed in the hallway. It irritated Dave that the sheriff hadn't even gotten that far in his investigation; because the man was so busy haggling Randy.

"I wouldn't worry about that…I have everything in hand." The sheriff snapped as he puffed out his chest in an attempt to look more intimidating.

"Sure looks that way." Dave nodded obligatorily, though it was apparent he was being facetious.

Kinsey turned away from Dave Batista and pointed one tubby finger a mere inch from Randy's face. "Don't leave my county…I still have questions for you…and even if _he_ doesn't hold you responsible for his wife's injuries, there's still the matter of you failing to render aid." He smiled when he saw Randy's confusion. "Oh, yeah…you forgot about that…you left one victim lying in the middle of the highway and gave her no help whatsoever."

"I was busy trying to keep Nancy from bleeding to death!" Randy blasted, clearly taken in by the sheriff's verbal baiting. "I had to make a choice…I-I…there was a baby involved and I did what I had to do for that baby!"

Dave's hand on Randy's chest provided a subtle reminder that he should stay calm for the sake of everyone in the hallway. Countless heads were turning and unabashed ogling from the late night staff and several family members of patients was taking place.

The sheriff tipped his hat, clearly satisfied with the damage he'd inflicted and he turned on his heel sauntering down the hallway disappearing into the elevator.

Randy was left to face his friend…knowing that he'd heard everything, knowing that even if all of the haughty sheriff's assumptions were false…all it took was one curious idea to plant a seed in someone's mind. "Dave, man…you gotta know that I never meant to have a wreck with your wife the car…I swear I wasn't drinking—"

"Randy." He cut him off in mid sentence. "If I suspected you were drinking…or if I even _thought_ you intentionally caused an accident…we wouldn't be having this conversation here…we'd be having it through a glass wall, because you'd be in jail, without question."

Randy swallowed as he listened.

"As far as I know it was an accident and so until someone convinces me that you had reason to slam into a tree on purpose, then it's nobody's fault." He nodded to engage Randy's agreement. "Suffice it to say, the more you argue with that idiot…" He nodded toward the elevator where the sheriff had retreated. "The worse you make it for everybody."

Randy nodded, ducking his head to avoid the piercing intensity of his friend's expression. "Is she gonna be okay?" Randy wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"The baby's fine, and they're doing the x-rays on Nancy now." Dave sighed heavily. "I don't know what the x-rays will say." He glanced at his watch and then back toward the door of Nancy's room. "I'll let Chris know he can go…and I need to call Angie…because I doubt we'll be out in time to get the girls for Christmas."

Randy watched as his friend walked away…their holiday was ruined, two days prior to Christmas day and they were stuck in the hospital. It was just like Randy to upset the whole plan, his and everyone else's in the process…he felt a steep and weighty depression settling in his chest. It was easy to remember his sister telling him that she could set her watch by the disasters he created. _'Leave it to Randy to wreck a perfect day.'_ That's what Lynn would always comment. _'You can set your watch by it.'_ She had always referred to it as _Randy Standard Time_…the time zone that was more like the _Twilight Zone._

The bad thing was, she hadn't been joking…she was never afraid to let him and anyone in earshot know how fed up she was with Randy and his inconsiderate conduct. _'She's right about you, you know?'_ the voice inside of him confirmed. _'You couldn't even calm your life down long enough to hold onto Samantha.'_

Samantha…he sure could use a word of encouragement from her about right now. Yes she needed her space, but she'd told him on the phone to call if he needed anything and he needed _her_ more than anything else in the world right now. He crossed the hall to the payphone and dumping in the appropriate amount of change, he hurriedly punched the numbers that would connect him with Samantha.

Several seconds passed and then he heard the ringing, continuous, unanswered…his heart plummeted when the machine picked-up.

"Sam." He practically barked into the phone after the tone. "It's me, Sam…I wish you were there…something bad happened tonight." He paused, not sure if he should rattle it all out on the machine. "I really need someone to talk to, please when you get this…"

"Randy?" A feminine voice cut him off. It was not Sam's. Her roommate Leah interrupted the leaving of his message. "Is that you?"

"I need to talk to Sam." Randy told Leah, suddenly hopeful…maybe Sam was in the shower.

"Randy, she's not here." Leah told him. "Are you okay, you sound upset?"

"No, I'm not okay…do you know where I can reach her?" Randy was determined to speak with Sam as quickly as possible.

"She went out, Randy." Leah explained. "You won't be able to reach her, where she is."

"Where the hell is she?" Randy inquired sheer, unchecked frustration boiled up within him. "She has her cell phone, doesn't she?"

"Randy, listen to me." Leah spoke softly, not certain of how to address the issue of his ex-fiancé resuming a life of dating. "Samantha's not reachable, right now."

"Leah, I need her, _right now_."

"She's out, Randy."

"But not with you, Leah…not with the girls…" Suddenly it was beginning to sink in for Randy…Sam and Leah were inseparable except when one or the other of them happened to be on a date.

"No…not with me." Leah said remorsefully. "I'm sorry Randy."

"Don't be…"

"I'm sure it's just a phase…I know she'll come back around soon and realize that you two belong together." Leah admitted, trying desperately to placate him. "I just know Todd's a rebound."

The mention of Samantha's ex boyfriend told Randy everything he needed to know. "Maybe _I_ was the rebound."

"I'll tell her you called." Leah offered sympathetically.

"That's okay…" He answered, his hopes thoroughly dashed. "Take care, Leah."

"Bye, Randy."

He hung the phone up and leaned his forehead against it…no wonder she had needed her space…she wasn't over Todd. Getting a long bygone ex-boyfriend out of her system was her priority, not Randy, not their wedding…not having a family. It was Samantha's need to explore past endeavors that had led to her canceling their wedding…not Randy's hectic schedule. There were easily a hundred women out there that he could have put in her place, women who would have gladly snatched him up…women he could still go to this very minute if he wanted. So why in the hell did it hurt so badly when he thought about Samantha being with someone else?

And now in spite of every trauma currently swirling around him, he had one more person to call…a call he had been regretting since the moment he realized he wouldn't be leaving Portland anytime soon. Bracing himself for the worst, he dug through his pocket for more change.


	6. Chapter 5

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 5

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Anyone can become angry - that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way; this is not easy."

- Aristotle

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"God was keeping an eye on that portion of the roadway…that's for sure." The words floated like musical notes on the air, and she could hear them, though she knew not who spoke them. Heavy eyelids prevented her from getting a view of anything or anyone and again she allowed herself to drift slowly, falling back into abyss, back to where her dreams were as dangerous as her reality.

_…Barren could feel the sweat as it pooled between her breasts, hopelessly squeezed together in the new strapless bra, beneath the tasteless lilac bridesmaid gown. It was a true disaster in taffeta if ever there was one…it just also happened to be something she had begged to be spared of. But Nikki Fontaine was the bride, a well paying client of Barren's and what Nikki said was gospel. And then there was the chapel…for the love all things holy, could it possibly be any hotter? The idea of casting open the shutters for the sheer glory of the birds and the outdoors was a beautiful thought, but one that sizzled itself flat beneath the unforeseen heat wave. So naturally, by the time the wedding had started there was no hope of the air-conditioner kicking in to cool the 3000 square foot, charmingly dilapidated chapel and so guests and wedding party alike were trying desperately to conceal their discomfort, under forced smiles._

_The clusters of wisteria hanging from the cream-colored, wrought-iron arbors and the lilac blossoms wound within voluminous, silken bows on the backs of chairs…along with a million ivory candles lit up in the middle of the day did nothing to take the sting out of the fact that there was another half hour at the very least for which she must stand behind Missy Shultz, the one bridesmaid in the party with a hygiene problem. Instead of enjoying the soft flow of music and the occasional twitter of the few remaining birds who had not dropped dead from their branches due to heat stroke, Barren was left praying that God would abate the slight breeze so that she herself could overheat in lieu of being downwind from Missy. Barren dared to lift the soft nosegay of frangipani to her face and inhale the buttery sweet scent…it helped a little, but then it just made things worse the moment she pulled it away._

'Concentrate'_ Barren told herself pledging that she would remember that this was Nikki's day, and since Nikki was a fitness client who had already paid her a mint and sent her a gaggle of new clients, Barren could suffer…a little…but Lord have mercy this was far beyond 'a little'._

_Suddenly the musical cue for Nikki's entrance blared out on the organ behind her, causing Barren to startle, unprepared for the blast. Yet despite the out of tune playing, it further signaled that they were closer to a blessed end for all of the stifling, stiff grinned pretending. Dearest, Nikki Fontaine strode the aisle in a lovely ivory gown, with mock shoulders and half sleeves, her very independently wealthy father in tow. Miles of snow-white satin trailed behind her on the floor…thick, heavy, suffocating satin. Barren quashed the temptation to chortle, thinking of the springtime wedding gown that Nikki could have chosen, but didn't. Of course she was certainly paying for it now…despite the semi-bare shoulders and the daring low cut of the designer gown, Barren would bet her right eye that dearest Nikki Fontaine was experiencing a veritable inferno under that skirt._

_A closer glance as Nikki arrived at the alter told the truth…the carefully arranged platinum curls under her gossamer veil were flat as grilled pancakes, and a rivulet of sweat dripped a glistening pathway down the side of her forehead, leaving a trail in her foundation make-up. Barren decided that Nikki was most probably furious under the mask of contrived jubilation, for her jaw was clenched into a hard, tight smile and a gleam of perspiration had already formed on her upper lip._

_The ceremony ensued and even the minister who would normally have endeavored to make the ritual as lovely and deliberate as possible, seemed to be hurried along by the lack of fresh air and the unbearable presence of the heat wave. Soon, the groom was kissing the bride, whose lip-gloss had melted down below the barrier of her lip-liner and then suddenly, as if on cue, in swept a breeze. It was much cooler and sweeter than the previous ones, bringing with it the refreshing scent of rain. Barren almost wept for joy, simply due to the fact that the breeze was coming from the other direction in through the south windows of the church this time, taking Missy's odor away with it. _

_Neither of the two present weather phenomena had been in the forecast, not the heat and not the rain, but today was a different sort of day all around…Barren could feel it. Today was different for her, because this morning she had woken up in a bed that was not her own…today was special because last night had been the night she realized that she was in love with Owen McDade. _

_Barren smiled wickedly at the memory of last night, knowing that the ceremony was ending and that her short appearance at the reception would lead her closer to leaving…she'd drive straight back to Owen's apartment and jump right back into his arms, his bed…because that's where she knew she belonged, for the first time since her father's arrest and her mother's deportation back to Ireland…Barren knew she'd found a place where she felt at home. _

_And now little more than a half hour later, Barren was gracefully returning her empty champagne flute to the tray of a passing waiter with full intentions of giving her condolences to the groom and making a swift exit through the door of the outdoor tent out into the soft, blessed drizzle. Sweet, hot, sensuous Owen…he would be waiting for her…he'd said it this morning after he'd made love to her…not much for weddings…that was another thing he'd mentioned, and so she'd gone dateless, but she didn't mind much…because she knew what awaited her once the wedding was over. Barren wrapped the matching taffeta shawl over her shoulders, enjoying the coolness, keys in hand, face lifted to behold the darkened, thundering sky as she headed toward the 1974 fully restored, non-classical Ford Maverick. It was Barren's idea of heaven on earth…that car, reliability without having a monthly bank-note. It just also happened to be her brother, Duncan's idea of a sound investment, which he'd pitched as a way for her to have more money for clothes._

_She slid the keys into the lock, not the slightest bit bothered by the increasing rain and was brought back from her reverie by the soft trill of her cell phone, signaling that she had a text message. Lifting it up to view, she flipped the phone open and the flashing icon for her inbox blinked rapidly. She opened the inbox and was met with a blurred segment of video, rather than text. It was a small snip-it of video from a webcam…a background she recognized…and a horror she had not been prepared for. Duncan was panicked, speaking feverishly into the microphone. "Under your back bumper, Barren…the key opens a locker in the women's bathroom of the YMCA, in the Projects, Seattle, bad area…" His words were cut short by the barely audible slice of a well silenced bullet as it pierced the back of his head and sent his face slamming forward, out of the range of the webcam. _

_Barren's body was rocked, as a sound of grief tore from her throat and even through the spray of blood and brain matter on the camera, she could make out a slightly familiar face. A hand covered the camera lens and then the transmission was cut short, but not before Barren had determined the face to belong to Teke…an associate of Owen's…a man on the security staff of the Congressman for whom her precious brother Duncan had worked. Shaking and confused, Barren fought to clear the screen and dial her brother's cell phone, if only to convince herself that what she'd seen wasn't true—that he'd answer the phone and say he'd been playing a trick on her…and that's when she felt it…the swift hard pain against the back of her shoulder blade and the strong forbidding arms like steel bands clamping around her body. A short struggle on Barren's part was only defeated by the ether covered cloth that found its way over her mouth and nose…and the soft sure hand that pulled the open cell phone from her grasp…_

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Sitting back in the office chair, glancing upward at the images in front of him, Dave Batista surmised that it wasn't much different from trying to read _The Dead Sea Scrolls…_with your eyes closed. He hated the helpless knowledge that he had to depend on the Doctor's explanation for what he was looking at…he wished he could somehow tell the extent of damage or lack thereof, on his own. The black and white filmy images were reminiscent of the sonograms he'd recently looked at, and yet they were nothing nearly as pleasant to view.

The Doctor snapped the last of the X-rays into the lighted box above his desk and then with very little emotion and highly clinical terminology, he began to explain.

"Frontal lobe, temporal lobe, parietal lobe…" his voice was a depressing drone as he touched each of the areas of the brain with the tip of his finger. "Are you familiar with any of the three?"

Dave was half tempted to tell the doc that the only lobe he was familiar with was his own earlobe, but decided that the joke might fall flat. "Nope." He answered and laced his fingers together as he leaned his elbows on the desk.

"These are generally the most common areas of the brain that sustain damage in a blunt trauma, or forcible impact situation." The doctor lifted his ink pen from the confines of the breast pocket of his starched lab-coat. "Usually you see swelling in any or all of these areas, depending upon the impact…force, direction of the blow and other factors. Often there can be bleeding and in some cases, a hard enough impact or a loss of oxygen to the brain can cause death." The doctor pointed with the tip of his pen to several areas as he spoke, none of his knowledge putting Dave Batista at ease.

"Obviously, she didn't require resuscitation at any point and so that eliminates the damage that oxygen deprivation would cause and without the CT Scan and contrast, I was able to determine, that there is no bleeding in any of the areas, though there is slight swelling in the temporal lobe, here." He pointed again with the pen. "The swelling is so minimal at this point, that I'm not inclined to do more than keep an eye on it. I'm of the opinion that if it were due to mortal injury, rather than reactionary swelling…that it would have already required surgery."

"And, this means…" Dave rolled his hand in frustration as if to coax the answer in laymen's terms from the doctor.

"If the injury were potentially life threatening, the brain would have already swollen to the point that we'd have been forced to go in and take out a portion of the skull and/or brain tissue, but as that _isn't_ the case here we've no need to get into the specifics. Of course we'll want to watch for a matter of days, but I believe that the swelling is more likely to decrease in the following hours, and that she'll simply awake with a hell of a headache and a greater appreciation for the fact that she was smart enough to wear her seatbelt."

Dave finally released the air that he had been holding in his lungs and leaned back in the chair, sheer relief and gratitude washing over him.

"Make no mistake…" The doctor said, seriously. "It was conveyed to me by the paramedics that the airbag failed, and had the seatbelt not locked when it did—had it locked even a micro-millisecond later…we'd be looking at the brain of a corpse…I attribute this solely to the grace of a higher power…maybe you should also."

Dave shook hands with the doctor, only just then noticing the tiny golden Crucifix pin on his white lapel, and thanking the doctor, he exited the office, bound for the room where his wife slept, with a silent prayer of thanks.

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Randy cradled the receiver, suddenly reminded that his cell phone was still laying somewhere out on that thoroughfare, in the vicinity of his mangled BMW. And he was already regretting the decision he'd made to call, even though he knew that it was a necessary evil. He crooked one arm over the top of the payphone and sighed heavily, listening to the ring, dreading the answer.

"Hello." The voice was clipped, tired…his sister Lynn.

Randy found his throat suddenly so dry that he feared he might not be able to respond and in trying to do so his normally deep and liquid baritone came out as more of a croak.

"Lynn." Randy rewet his lower lip and nervously spoke.

She seemed surprised to be hearing from him, and rightly so, being as it was almost 1:00 a.m. "Randy?" It was clear she was irritated when she spoke on a sigh, slightly groggy.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Where are you calling from?" Lynn asked suspiciously. "You should be about a third of the way here by now."

"Well." Randy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I haven't exactly left yet…there was an accident." For the second time, he'd had to make that announcement, and it still didn't make him feel at ease.

"Dammit Randy!" Lynn said in exasperation, without bothering to delve for specifics. "Lemme guess…your accident is about 5 foot 7, 125 pounds, has a full tip jar, courtesy of 'Randy Orton', and is probably just now putting her clothes back on, is that it?"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes in frustration. "It's not like that, Lynn, ther—"

"It's exactly like _that_, Randy…always something like _that_!" She whispered fiercely. "It's always another little accident getting in the way of things you should have prioritized!"

"I swear, Lynn—"

"Yep, you swear…" She jabbed angrily in the air as if he were there to see it, and then mimicking his much deeper voice she teased. "_'I swear I'll be there, Lynn…I swear I'll be on time, Lynn…I swear I won't leave you hanging, Lynn.'_"

He didn't bother trying to interrupt her tirade. Randy's experience with his sister had taught him that it never did him any good.

"Are you planning on showing up at all?" Lynn barked the question, and he could hear her flinging back the covers in the background…Randy could even clearly imagine the fierce scowl etched in her features as she paced the floor, though he could not see her.

"I hit a tree, Lynn." Randy said, grazing his thumb over the return change lever on the phone, lamenting the decision to call at all.

"Were you drinking! Are you in jail, Randy!" Lynn was furious at this point.

"I'm at the hospital in Portland, Lynn…" He began amidst an outburst of her vocal assumptions. "And…my pregnant passenger is injured." He knew that inserting _that_ small tidbit of information would force her to stop ranting long enough for him to get his point across.

As expected, Lynn halted dead in her tracks and then after a long pause she spoke. "_Who_ are you talking about?" She had quieted substantially and though she spoke much more softly, her words still dripped with a condescending air.

"I was giving Dave's wife a ride to the airport on my way out of town and we had a wreck…she's hurt and so is the other girl…and I have no clue if either of them will be okay."

"What do you mean, the _other_ girl?" Lynn asked, slightly confused.

"There was a woman on the roadway and I hit her, and hit the tree and now there's this _'Barney Fief'_ sheriff guy that says I can't leave the county until he finds out whether or not they intend to charge me with something." Randy plowed his hand through his hair and closed his eyes, ready for the angry outburst that he was sure would follow, but it didn't.

"So you're _not_ coming." Lynn announced it, rather than waiting for him to confirm it. "Always something, Randy, right?" Her voice was soft, disappointed and yet assured. It was almost as if she had come to accept the fact that her brother was an utter failure, another reason for her to be tethered to the responsibilities of her parents while he ran off and sowed enough wild oats for the both of them.

"Lynn, don't say that." Randy's voice was weak, defeated…the knowledge that she wasn't necessarily concerned with whether he was safe and unharmed, plucked viciously at his heartstrings.

"Mom, _needs_ you right now…" Lynn told him. "There's the tack and stables, Randy. Not to mention the woodshop…Dad's coming home tomorrow…I need you here. It's almost Christmas, Randy!"

Her scathing voice sliced into his already bruised pride and out of sheer desperation, he finally lashed back. "You think I don't know that?" He snapped. "I can't leave the county, I just wrapped my car around a tree…and you're beating me up over it…I can't do anything from here!"

"And so I just get the privilege of doing it all by myself again, right?"

"What do you want from me?" Randy snarled, leaning his back against the wall, dangerously close to hanging up.

"I want you to grow up!" Lynn shouted. "I want you to take responsibility for _your_ family…instead of being responsible for someone _else's_ wife and someone _else's_ duties…Randy, I really do hope she's okay, but you have no one to blame for any of your bad experiences but yourself. Everything around you is falling apart because you neglect it…your family, your fiancée, and now you're finally seeing what happens when you live life by the seat of your pants." He could hear her shuffle the phone and she spoke low in the background. "It's okay, Mom…I'll talk to you in a second."

"Tell Mom I called." Randy didn't wait for her response instead choosing to end the call. He seated the receiver on the hook and plodded down the hallway toward the elevator.


	7. Chapter 6

**Uncommon Bond**

Chapter 6

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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The character of every act depends upon the circumstances in which it is done.

--Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

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His thumb grazed the rim of the empty paper cup and he peered past the expanse of unoccupied tables through tired eyes at nothing in particular. It was difficult to focus on any one thing and even though his stomach protested at his neglect, demanding that he feed himself, he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold down anything that he consumed. Not to mention that he was battling depression over the fact that he'd lost a fight with the snack vending machine and sadly he was left with his Snickers Bar still dangling precariously on the spiral dispenser arm, behind the glass where he couldn't get at it. He listened without interest to the distant clanking of dishes as they were passed through the line somewhere back in the kitchen and he could hear the soft swish of a broom being swept lightly across the floor from somewhere behind him.

The only thing on Randy Orton's mind was the harsh and unyielding verbal battering from Lynn, and the possibility of impending criminal charges. He wasn't even altogether sure that he wouldn't mind being in jail for a time, if he could be assured that he didn't have to hear from Lynn, about what a failure he was…the mere thought that being in a cell would give him a measure of peace was enough to cushion that particular blow.

He knew that before too long he would be required to call his mother back and explain the situation to her. It was disheartening to think that his mother had gotten the lowdown from Lynn, who surely conveyed Randy's ineptitude with the whole situation. And though Randy was certain that his soft spoken mother would form her own gentle opinion of his abilities and his culpabilities, he still knew that it was only right that he call her back…but he couldn't do it right now…he wouldn't set himself up for another barrage of verbal bullets from his big sister. He wasn't quite sure when Lynn had begun to view him as a burden rather than a sibling, but he supposed that the birth of that particular transition didn't matter, the fact that she was perpetually upset with him was enough in itself.

Even so, Randy could remember when things hadn't been that way…when the two of them had been closer. Randy had been Lynn's baby…the baby brother she had begged Santa for…that's what his mother had said. Lynn had coddled Randy from the very minute he was born… protected him fiercely from bigger boys and even a few girls. Lynn had made excuses for him when he'd conceived of fairly impressive mischief as a child and often without intention she had been the recipient of the consequences.

He thought back and could remember when he'd tagged along after Lynn had gotten her driver's license…a few times without asking, stowed away in the back floorboard, only to be discovered by her friends when she had stopped by to pick them up. Randy remembered being bawled out by his father for one such incident in particular and how Lynn had jumped to his defense telling their father that she had forgotten that she promised Randy he could come along…telling her father that it was her fault.

But no one, not even Randy could deny that for years Lynn had been cleaning up his messes and Randy hadn't even been cordial enough to thank her. He'd just always assumed that she did it because that's what big sisters do. At least, that's what big sisters were supposed to do. Family and many other people in the loop had witnessed Lynn's commendable fortitude where Randy was concerned, and even though she was looked on as a strong and competent sister with a heart for her much younger, much wilder bother, Lynn had considered it a weighty cross to bear. And it wasn't long before Straight-laced Lynn Orton was tired of living in the shadow of her brother, a brother who had no remorse for his bad actions, no forethought to penalty. While Lynn was out trying to make the world a better place, Randy was out wrecking it as fast as he possibly could. She'd said as much, a time or two before. She'd been buried under a pile of Randy's rubble…the remains of everything he'd inadvertently destroyed…all because of his carelessness.

Maybe Lynn was right. Maybe tonight was just the price that he had to pay for having been so flippant in his every endeavor. He was reaping a harvest of hell from the wild oats he had sown and was half tempted to pray for a crop failure.

Randy gently tipped the cup backward and peeking inside, he was reminded yet again that it was empty and then he jumped slightly, startled when another cup was placed in front of him from over his left shoulder. The gesture caused him to turn and he was met with the placid expression of his friend…someone he at least hoped was still his friend. The thought that the coffee was a last ditch effort to mask some sort of underlying anger was replaced by the hope that it could be a peace offering instead. He hadn't gleaned from Dave Batista's earlier demeanor that he was very angry or that he was holding blame, but Dave Batista was a hard man to read and sometimes reluctant to share his feelings so Randy wasn't quite certain how to gauge the man.

Dave slid into the seat across from Randy, holding his own steaming cup of coffee, and let out a small sigh glancing around the empty cafeteria. His arms rested casually on the table as he held the tiny paper cup between both of his large hands. Steam swirled from the top of it mesmerizing him for a split second.

"I thought I would come tell you what the doctors had to say." Dave's voice rumbled smoothly. Tired and weary, his eyes locked onto Randy…no malice lay behind them, just seriousness.

Randy was certain that the news wasn't bad…because if it were, he would probably be trying to extract himself from some jiu-jitsu choke hold at the hands of his former Evolution team member, right about now. He nodded, and sniffed…then cleared his throat…waiting…for the choke hold or the news…whichever came first.

"The doctor thinks that she won't suffer any long term damage."

The stiffness in Randy's muscles didn't give way, even at the announcement…surely there had to be more. "What about right now?" He asked timidly.

"Just slight swelling…they're watching it."

Randy felt himself relax, but not fully, because though it appeared that Nancy would make it through just fine, there was still the other woman…the woman that no one seemed to even care about. He wasn't surprised that Dave hadn't put any of his energy into finding out the woman's condition, being as he had his own wife to worry about, but the fact that the woman was listed as a 'Jane Doe', had Randy slightly bothered. She had no identity really, no family or friends that even knew she was here…and no one else truly seemed phased, by her existence or by the fact that because of him and his BMW, she had almost ceased to exist altogether. No one cared except for maybe the sheriff, and that was more due in part to the man's desire to see Randy fry, than it was out of concern for the life of the woman.

"Thank God." Randy responded, finally, pushing the empty cup aside in lieu of the fresh cup.

"I know you were worried…but they say she'll be fine." Dave sipped the coffee. "The sheriff says you can't leave until the district attorney hears your statement, did you get in touch with anyone at headquarters to let them know what happened?"

"I left a message on Johnny Ace's voicemail." Randy mumbled. "He's not the person who handles this sort of thing, but every other number I had was in my phone on the road…I had Johnny's card in my wallet though…so that'll have to do."

Dave nodded, "He'll let Vince and Dibiase know…you should be okay." He looked Randy in the eye. "Maybe you should get a hotel for tonight and then get a hold of your attorney in the morning…I have a feeling, with that sheriff on the prowl you're gonna need one."

"What about you?" Randy asked, wondering if he should even leave…he still had questions about the 'Jane Doe.'

"I'll stay here…I can always sleep in the waiting area, until I know she's past the critical watching phase." Dave affirmed.

Randy knew that his friend had no intention of leaving while his wife was still unconscious…but hearing him admit it reminded Randy of how precious the relationship between the two of them must be. Not unlike the way he'd hoped his marriage to Samantha would have been…but not now…not after tonight.

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"I believe we'd be safe in moving her out of intensive care, sometime later tomorrow." The doctor on call told the charge nurse, as he stood next to Barren's bed and evaluated the results of the CT Scan he'd ordered hours prior. "I'm still baffled that neither of the women involved in this wreck are dead, or critical at the very least." He shook his head in amazement. "But I'm not one to second guess the hand of God, so I'll just take it the way it is."

The charge nurse smiled, nodding her head in concurrence. "The sheriff has requested that he be the first to speak with her as soon as she wakes up. What should I tell him?" She shuffled a small clear plastic bag from one hand to the other. "He's asked for her belongings." She motioned to the small bag.

"Let's not move her until tomorrow so that she doesn't have to deal with him right now…she needs her rest." The doctor checked her vitals one last time. "I would just advise that you leave her belongings with her for now…I don't see what business he has with those until he determines _who_ she is…surely she has family out there that would be interested in knowing what's happened…hopefully he'll focus on finding them, for now." Having seen how the sheriff had dealt with the young man responsible for the wreck, made the doctor reluctant to expose the 'Jane Doe' to the stress that the questioning might inflict.

The nurse nodded and slid the bag onto the top shelf of the closet. "And if she wakes in the next few hours?"

The doctor slid the stethoscope around his neck and sighed. "If she wakes in the next few hours, then just don't tell him. He can talk to her tomorrow."

Barren could feel the soft concerned touch of the doctor's hands on her arm…and through the fog of her exhaustion she could hear the verbal exchange between the nurse and the doctor. Soon there was silence and she knew she was alone. A subtle lift of one eyelid confirmed that assumption and though she wanted to get out of the hospital and finish what she knew she must, Barren wasn't foolish enough to try and make a move until she was sure her departure would be unimpeded, and with her head pounding like a blacksmith's anvil she doubted she could concentrate long enough to formulate a plan. Grateful for the time to rest, she let her eyes drift shut again, content with the knowledge that her belongings were safe on the top shelf of the closet, even if she was still too weak to retrieve them.

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"My contact at the hospital tells me that Barren will be moved tomorrow from intensive care." Evan told Sullivan.

"We need to move in then…before she becomes coherent enough to figure out how to get out of there herself." Sullivan announced the slightest edge of panic in his voice. "Are you certain your contact gave you accurate information?"

"She's a dietician in the hospital's cafeteria and she was just given the information several minutes ago." Evan confirmed. "Evidently, they determined that she can have a small staple diet starting tomorrow night.

Sullivan shook his head with a smile on his face. "It never ceases to amaze me at how you manage to find a contact in every single city we find ourselves." He laughed slightly and yet his eyes held a flicker of annoyance.

Evan shared in Sullivan's humor, grinning as he popped a peanut in his mouth. "I think that it has something to do with the fact that she thinks I'm a doctor." He explained how he'd already dressed up as a physician and ordered a meal from the cafeteria. But that was only the beginning he told Sullivan, because Evan had claimed to be a neurologist from Ireland and as suspected his feigned accent had clinched it for him. Cementing his story and securing him a date for the following night. "I just asked her to keep an eye out for the dietary needs of my patient and to call me should there be any change to her meal plan not given by me…of course I asked her to be completely discreet about our meeting, because often American doctors could be prejudice and hard to deal with…I gave her my cell phone number and she called just a few minutes ago." The handsome man swiped at a crumb on his perfectly pressed slacks, a self satisfied sigh slipping across his full lips. "A risk, I know…especially should she choose to inform the true physician of my 'diet plan', but I laid it on kind of thick…I invited her for a drink and dinner tonight…she's meeting me at Beef O'Brady's pub near the airport…maybe I'll get laid before I leave town."

"You'll be canceling those plans I'm sure…" Sullivan insisted with a wry smile, clearly not amused by the risky maneuver perpetuated by his associate.

"Ah, hell no…She's hot." Evan laughed out loud, no intention of canceling his plans.

"I'm sure she is, but she's also gonna be having dinner and a drink by herself, because you and Mathew will be retrieving Barren first thing in the morning." Sullivan slapped his pocket book down onto the desk on front of him. "Since you're so damned good at playacting…you can set up the proper paperwork and pretend that she's your wife."

"Sully, its 3 a.m.!" Evan's smile faded quickly. "There's nothing I can do at this hour!"

"You have a damned contact at a hospital calling you in the middle of the night with a patients dietary menu and you expect me to believe that you can't manage to forge a birth certificate, and a driver's license?" Sullivan laughed. "Be back here with Barren in tow by noon."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Evan dropped the peanuts that were nestled in his left hand. "There's no way I can pull that off…"

"I'm sure you'll work it out." Sullivan snapped, as he stood and dismissed Evan.

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The sun was just peeking through the clouds, sending shimmers of light, like fiery fingers across the land…the cold rain had given way to a fresh, calm morning.

The hues of pink and gold, mingled themselves with deeper purples and blues as they seeped across the skyline, and one large hand held back the curtain of the darkened hospital room so that he could view it. A Miracle, that sunrise…it was only one miracle in a short string of miracles lately. Dave heard the soft rumble of an engine and it drew his attention below where a delivery truck backed out of the hospital's loading dock, he sighed and blinked heavy eyelids, knowing that sleep wasn't likely to come even if he chose to close his eyes.

He glanced down on his wife's quiescent form, when he turned, and then he let the curtain fall back over the window, and reached out to brush a tangled curl away from her forehead where the bandage covering her laceration remained spotless, indicating that the bleeding had long ago stopped. A dark brown fringe of eyelashes remained motionless, save for the slight tremor of movement common to REM sleep. Her chest rose and fell softly, peacefully telling him that she was taking in steady uninhibited breaths as she slept.

Dave Batista leaned down to brush a kiss on her brow, deciding that he had better try to eat something or he'd end up in here along with her. He whispered into her ear that he'd be back, and then noticing her limp arms, his brow pleated and he lifted her wrist, placing her hand on her belly. It seemed so natural for her hand to be there, because that's where they had been since the very second that she'd found out she was pregnant. He could remember walking in on her while she dressed, even when there had still been no outward sign of the child growing inside of her…she'd been standing sideways in the mirror smiling, imagining what she might look like in a few months. And so he had put her hand on her stomach now, because he just knew that's where it would be if she were awake and could put it there herself.

He pushed the curtain back away from the glass so that the newborn sun streamed into the room, flooding it with blessed natural light. It seemed more peaceful immediately, more hopeful. Dave was satisfied with leaving her for a half hour and he slipped soundlessly through the door, turning just in time to prevent a head on collision with two men in suits, accompanying a very concerned gentleman. Something about the trio piqued his interest and he was slightly tempted to think that the two men in suits might be the Gentleman's attorneys, but the fact that neither carried a briefcase or even a folder that might have contained legal documents, told him that it wasn't likely. A flash of irritation in the eyes of one of the suited men kindled a sense of foreboding in Dave and he turned as the men passed him just to be certain that they were headed away from his wife's room.

He watched them assemble near the triage desk and was satisfied that they had other business, only then did he turn and stride down the hallway toward the cafeteria and a tasteless meal.

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"I only just now found out that she was here." Evan explained to the petite red-haired nurse behind the desk. "I really would like to see her before we get into the specifics of her injuries."

"And are you a friend?" The nurse asked, succinctly as she slid a piece of paper into the 'outbox' on the wall behind her. She seemed less than impressed by the Irishman's smile and accent.

"She's my wife." Evan announced with a nuance of sadness.

The nurse's head popped up and a slight glimmer of confusion drifted across her face. She had known few facts about the woman, but one thing that she had remembered for certain was that the woman's body had been laden with injuries and bruises that appeared to be days old, despite the fact that the wreck had happened a mere 9 hours ago. Another interesting detail she had noted was that the woman hadn't been wearing any jewelry, not even a wedding ring. "Well, thank goodness…" She said softly, still gauging the situation. "We've listed her as a 'Jane Doe', could you enlighten us as to what her given name is?"

The question was one that Evan had been prepared for, but one that he dreaded nonetheless. He knew that answering the question could be a huge risk, no matter whether he chose to answer truthfully or with a lie. If he told the truth, then likely the hospital and the law enforcement might not intervene before he could get out of there with her, but even if he did manage to get out of there with her and someone had questions then they would have a name to go on and a place to start linking the whole bloody trail, right back to the congressman.

If Evan chose to lie about her name, He would be better off, for he had all of the proper documentation to prove that she was the woman he would claim her to be and yet he knew he still ran the risk that she might have already awakened and given a nurse or doctor her real name or a false identity…which meant that whatever false name he gave would be wrong and therefore send up a red flag.

"Her name is Gina." Evan said, trying to determine whether the woman could see right through him. "And since she is my wife, she carries my last name…Hannigan." It was a lie all the way around, one supported by falsified documents and a great poker face, and one enforced by the two imposing escorts who were now leaning against the desk in an effort to appear more intimidating.

But intimidation was something that the nurses of the intensive care unit were immune to, especially Lacey Pittman…after nearly 8 years of being a nurse on an overseas Army base, she was used to being bullied and it simply didn't work on her any longer. She smiled, pinning both men with a look of innocence and then her gaze locked on Evan. "What did you say your name was?"

"Thomas." Evan lied, unprepared for the question.

"Did you bring some sort of identification with you?" Lacey asked, clearing her throat.

"That I did." Evan stated brightly and pulled from his inside jacket pocket a very fresh copy of Gina Hannigan's Birth Certificate, and her driver's license.

Lacey glanced at the very official document in her hand, one that bore no evidence of wear and tear, save the two perfect creases that indicated it had been tri-folded to fit into the gentleman's jacket pocket. This detail didn't slip by Lacey unnoticed. The driver's license too bore no semblance of wear, no small scratches as would be present on a license that appeared to have last been renewed 5 years prior. The whole situation put a bad taste in Lacey's mouth. The injuries that seemed to have been a result of abuse, the fact that she had been found in a tattered negligee, the absence of any jewelry despite the fact that she knew the paramedics well and knew that they would have surely documented a wedding ring had there been one and bagged it for storage in the hospital's safe…all of those facts, combined with the disturbing knowledge that no one, not a soul in the hospital had notified the press about the woman or her injuries. Perhaps the sheriff had uncovered some new evidence about her family's whereabouts and that would account for the appearance of a husband, but Lacey doubted that.

"Did you happen to have your marriage license with you?" Lacey asked, holding fast to the documents he'd already handed her.

Evan breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the forged copy was nestled safely in his pocket just in case it had been asked for. "Certainly…I know that security is tight and I appreciate your discretion."

He slid the paper out of his pocket and Lacey took it opening it to behold the very professional official seal of the State of Texas, a place with which she was abundantly familiar. The license listed Pampa, Texas as the place for which the couple had filed for the license, but oddly the county on the license was not listed as Gray County, the actual county that encompassed the small town…but as Carson County.

This only caught Lacey's attention because even though she had resided in Austin Texas for most of her young life…many miles away from Carson county her sister was the head nurse at the Clemens Unit Male prison in Carson county which was more than forty miles away from the courthouse in Pampa Texas where they had obtained the license. Mixing up counties was a mistake that was as unlikely as it was preposterous, but Lacey didn't call the man out on the error just yet. "Will you excuse me?" Lacey asked, handing the man his papers. "I have to let the charge nurse know you're here."

Evan nodded, relieved that his charade was going over like gangbusters. "Of course…what was your name?" He made a fatal error when he allowed his flirtatious nature to surface, placing his hand on Lacey's shoulder, allowing his thumb the luxury of grazing her flesh through the brightly colored scrub top.

Lacey glanced at his hand on her shoulder and then into his eyes which danced with hidden curiosity. Something in those eyes…intensely sensuous…dangerous, when he looked down at her. It was as if they'd already had an affair…and it frightened and appalled her all at once. What sort of man, even one so handsome as this man, with his wavy black locks and shimmering grey eyes, perfect teeth and strong grasp, would dare openly flirt with another woman when his _wife_ lay mere feet away asleep and injured?

"You can call me Miss Pittman." She told him and moved away from his hand and down the hallway to find the Charge Nurse. She traversed the small circular hallway, keeping an eye on the security camera on the wall in the corner as she passed, making certain that he had not begun to enter rooms randomly in an attempt to find out which one she was in. Before she could find the charge nurse, she was confronted by the Sheriff who was only just now exiting the elevator, headed for Jane Doe's room, she assumed. He stopped in front of Lacey and pushing his jacket off of his shoulders, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"That punk still up here?" The Sheriff asked self-righteously.

Even though Lacey assumed that the sheriff must have meant the young man who had wrecked the car, she pretended not to know and said. "No sir, I believe your deputy went home just after 5 a.m." She smiled when she detected his air of irritation.

"That's not who I meant!" He snapped, tucking his jacket under his arm.

"Well maybe if you'll tell me who you meant, then we'll both know." Lacey smiled when she saw him glower.

"I meant that punk kid, the pro wrestler that I plan to arrest in a few hours, when I get consent from the DA to charge him with vehicular assault." He spoke matter-of-factly, belying his frustration.

"Ah, I see." Lacey responded. "In that case, no he's not here any longer, and no, I'm not sure when he'll be back." She stepped in front of the sheriff and lowered her voice. "I do, however, need some info from _you_."

The pudgy sheriff narrowed his eyes and nodded indicating that she could proceed with her question.

"Did you ever get in touch with any of the family of the 'Jane Doe'?"

"Hell no…I haven't even gotten in to speak with her, or finger print her so I can run her ID, because of your damned bodyguard nurses…" the sheriff snapped angrily. "And that's another damned thing I wanna talk to you about while I'm here!"

"Whoa-wait!" Lacey cut him off before he could give reign to his full tirade. "You mean you never called her family? Nobody? Nothing?"

"I still have no idea who in the hell she is, so how would I know who to call?"

"I was just wondering." Lacey said, when confirmation of her suspicions was dropped like a ton of bricks in her lap.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Lacey said, a wash of fresh panic falling over her. "I'll be right back." Lacey practically jogged back around the corner to the desk in enough time to see one of the two accompanying men, thumbing through a folder on her desk…a patient's folder.

Evan cleared his throat and adjusted the lapel of his jacket. "Can I see my wife?"

Lacey was disgusted by his attempt to lie, but she held back the verbal blast that she might have otherwise unleashed, had there not been a nosey sheriff around the corner filling his cup with fresh coffee from the nurse's station at the end of the wing.

"Did you want to claim her wedding ring? It's in the safe." Lacey lied and was rewarded with a look of confusion and doubt in the man's eyes, so slight, that it might have even been missed had she not been watching for that very thing.

"I would love to." Evan never broke stride in his deception as he spoke continuing the lie with fluid ease. "That ring was my Grandmother's and I know she'll be missing it." Certainly Evan hadn't remembered her having a ring on, but if the nurse said she did, then who was he to suspect that the woman had a reason to lie.

Lacey smiled and stood a bit taller. "I think we both know that she's not your wife, so how about we just drop the charade before we both start looking like fools." She snatched the patient folder away from the man who stood beside Evan and was rewarded with a smirk.

"I beg your pardon?" Evan was stunned that the attractive nurse had the fortitude to confront him, and slightly bewildered being as all of his identification paperwork had been in place and all of his information completely legitimate to the best of his knowledge. It must have been the question of the ring…that was where she had gotten him.

"Don't beg, it's pathetic." Lacey said softly. "Just turn around and walk out of this unit before I have you tossed out on your ass."

A laugh bubbled up from Evan's throat. "I don't think you understand." He pulled his government ID badge from his wallet as did the other two men. "We work for Congressman McCaughey and that woman in there is a suspect in a federal murder case…I'm not leaving this unit without her." His voice was calm, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

The challenge incited a deep seated fury in Lacey, partially because she hated the thought of being lied to and then threatened after she'd uncovered the truth. She reached out and touched the edge of the badge taking a good long look at it. "Do you have a warrant?"

"Show me to her room." Evan demanded softly, dodging her question.

"Here's the part where I remind you that _I'm_ in charge and unless you have a warrant, I don't have to show you shit." Lacey matched his calm demeanor tempo for tempo.

Evan liked her immediately. Had they met under different circumstances, it was likely that they might have become sexually involved; if he let his mind wander he could even imagine tugging on the shoulder length red hair as he took her from behind. Indignant, challenging…yes, he definitely wished he had the time to pursue this woman. "I certainly hope that's not your final answer."

"This isn't a game show." Lacey said. "I won't let the sheriff in there without a warrant so what makes you think I would afford _you_ that luxury?"

"I'm not sure you know who you're dealing with." Evan stepped closer to her his eyes darkening. As easily as he could imagine himself screwing her, he could imagine his hands around her throat depriving her of her life's breath.

"I don't feel the need to deal with you in the least…and I suggest that unless you'd like to meet a few of my male orderlies, along with the sheriff…" Lacey began, stepping closer not swayed by his under laced threat, until her nose was mere inches from his. By God he was as gorgeous as he was condescending and as sexually enticing as he was deceitful and Lacey paused in the middle of her own threat to breathe in the smell of his cologne. Why oh, why could she never meet men like this under normal conditions? "You should come back with a warrant or with a more convincing lie." Lacey knew that her first duty was to protect her patient, even if a handsome and suave, apparently single brigand was the one she had to protect her from. She could easily imagine her fingers sliding through the waves of black hair, and what those lips, now curved into a mocking smile would feel like if they burned a trail down her neck.

"I guess I'll be back then." Evan announced softly, wishing that he'd approached this nurse instead of the dietician, for the spunky red-haired woman was far more enticing than the blonde in the cafeteria. He backed away, as he slid the wallet back inside his jacket, the smile never leaving his face.

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Standing by the door, Barren listened closely to the conversation that had just taken place. She leaned against the wall, holding her broken arm to her side, and she was relieved that the nurse had sent the three men away. Barren knew exactly who they were and why they had come. She also knew that he would be back soon, and with a warrant even if it were not legitimate.

It didn't matter much that her head was pounding in tandem with her pulse and her body was sore and battered, it was imperative that she leave soon. Barren knew, that other than her arm, there were no major injuries, and though she knew that it would be difficult to get out of the hospital unnoticed, she had to do just that.

Barren made her way over to the closet and with a great deal of effort, frustration and pain, she managed to wrestle the bag containing her clothing off of the shelf and tuck it under her arm. The small exertion exhausted her quickly, and she leaned against the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. She had listened closely to the talk about moving her to another ward and knew that she had to leave before the arrangements to do so were enacted.

But before Barren could begin, the sound of the nurse's voice and her footsteps alerted her. Barren slid open the nightstand drawer and smashed to bag of clothing inside, and then unceremoniously she slid back into the bed and under the covers, wincing when she felt a sharp pain in her hip…a reminder of her recent run in with a BMW. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, just in time for the nurse to enter.

"I wish I knew who you were." Lacey murmured softly to her patient as she warmed the end of the stethoscope in her hand. "You sure have caused a hell of a lot of excitement around here." She smiled and slid the stethoscope, inside the collar of the hospital issue gown, noticing immediately the accelerated heartbeat. "Either you ran a marathon while I was gone, or there's something else going on." Lacey counted out the beats per minute and then placed a blood pressure cuff on Barren's arm. The blood pressure was elevated and Lacey was remiss to recommend that she be moved until after she could determine what had caused the spike in the woman's vitals. "I'll be back sweetie, I'm going to get the doctor on call and hopefully you'll be waking up soon."

But just like a child, Barren was pretending…it was nearly laughable, she thought, as the nurse pulled the covers up again and slipped out of her room. It reminded her of the earlier years of her childhood, before her father's imprisonment and her mother's deportment and for a moment, she was five years old again, and back in the shoddy sod house in Dublin…

_…Duncan snored fiercely, as Barren tried to loosen her share of the covers from his grip._

_"Give over Duncan!" Barren whispered fiercely, but to no avail, for Duncan snored even more loudly. She suspected he wasn't fully asleep but how could she prove otherwise? A sound kick in his backside elicited a yelp from Duncan, and Barren commanded once more. "Give over with the blankie Duncan!"_

_"You're so mean!" Duncan shoved her half of the covers at her and rolled over with a huff. "I'm tellin' mother, you whiney titty baby!"_

_"No ye won't." Barren smiled and challenged him. "Cuz if ye do, then she'll know that we're awake." She knew she'd won when she heard her bigger brother groan and slam his head deeper into his pillow._

_She tossed and turned for a few more minutes until she heard footsteps outside of the door. It was then that she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to snooze._

_She heard the sound of her door being opened and then the soft comforting whisper of her jolly father. _

_"Are ye awake Barren?" Came his question, softly._

_Still squeezing her eyes shut trying hard as she might to be convincing, Barren answered. "No" in a raspy whisper._

_The gentle laughter that followed was musical to her. "Well, for such a sound sleeper, ye sure are a damned wiggly thing." He referred to the way she shuffled the covers all the while still holding her eyes closed in an attempt to feign sleep._

_Barren's eyes popped open and she grinned. "I wasn't really sleepin' Daddy, I was just fakin' it."_

_"I don't believe that for a second." He said as he winked. "But if ye really wanna be convincing, ye have to be very, very still." He told her and then continued. "And someday if ye find yerself needin to pretend yer asleep, then don't laugh and surely don't answer them 'no' out loud, just think 'no' quietly inside yer head."_

_Barren giggled. "Is that how ye knew I was fakin sleep?" _

_"Well yer a good faker, but ye wanna be a better one, ya?"_

_"I do…but only because of those soldiers, the bad men that fight here and in the city?" She asked her father about the rebels who had fought relentlessly against the police in Ireland, causing war and unrest._

_"Not exactly." He explained furrowing his brow. "I was speakin of when ye steal a cookie before bedtime and yer ma, goes lookin fer it!" He made a mock claw and then tickled her tummy, sending her into a fit of giggles. "Ye'd wanna be fakin that ye'd been asleep for hours, so she'd never suspect ye was the one who took it."_

_"Did ye ever have to fake sleep in the war?" Barren's face was filled with somber curiosity._

_"I did once, and it saved my life." He admitted._

_"Was it hard?"_

_"It was the toughest thing I ever did." He watched as Barren's eyebrows raised in awe and then he continued. "Mostly because I'd had more than my share of beans and sauerkraut, which is not an Irish dish, earlier in the evening and I had the bloats and the runs!" His eyes became large and round and his hands gestured as he spoke. "Imagine having to keep yer eyes shut and stay still when your stomach and your arse are doin a jig…but I managed to hold in all of the gas until after the regiment left…and then believe me when I tell ya that I cut loose like a drunken bagpipe player, and stunk my own self out of the bog." He waved his hand in front of his face as if to say it stank._

_Barren laughed, and then was soon joined in the laughter by Duncan , who had been faking sleep the entire time._

_"Ah, Duncan…now that's a good pretender there." He observed. "He tricked us both."_

_"That's a good thing to know…" Barren nodded her head seriously. "How to pretend yer sleepin…thanks for helpin' me."_

_"Well, maybe it'll come in handy someday, Barren." He nodded and tucked the covers up under her chin, and then ruffled Duncan's hair. "I'd better go fake like I was out havin a smoke or else yer Ma'll skin me alive fer getting ye both all riled up at bedtime…g'night."_

_"G'night." Duncan whispered._

_"G'night, Dad." Barren whispered and then closed her eyes to practice faking sleep…_

A small tear slid down Barren's cheek at the memory, and she would have given anything to experience Duncan's hogging of the covers or her father's crude descriptions of farting in the bog, just once more. But her father was living out the rest of his days behind stone walls under lock and key for his involvement in the rebellion, and Duncan was dead.

She sniffed softly and opened her eyes, ready to end the charade of sleeping and face the questions the nurse and doctors would have, because that's all she could do for now, until she could get out and get across the border. But it was the unexpected sight of the tall, handsome man, standing at the end of her bed that had her tongue-tied for the moment. His dark brown hair, almost black appeared freshly washed, and it waved in unruly tendrils on his forehead, as if he'd fought with it and then given up.

Barren saw the eye-catching stubble of a neglected five o'clock shadow, and bright but tired brown eyes. His hands had started out at his side, but Barren noticed that he shifted uncomfortably as soon as he realized her eyes were open. She had no clue how long he had been standing there, watching her, but his sudden unease told her that her theory of him being somehow involved with Congressman McCaughey wasn't likely. The men he employed were without a doubt assured and skilled, hard to read and ruthless…this man didn't appear to be any of those things. His hands sank deep into his front pockets and he stared at his shoes for a short second.

Something about his attractive countenance had Barren wishing she had a mirror in which to check her reflection. His was a mix of boyish good looks, coupled with a very masculine air of sexuality that couldn't have been disguised, even by his sudden obvious air of insecurity.

"What's your name?" He asked, softly, possibly second guessing his choice to ask her that question.

"What's yours?" She shot gently back at him, her voice long freed from its childhood Dublin accent.

He smiled, realizing how silly it had been, making that his very first inquiry and stepping a few more feet into the room he raised his chin and his eyes locked with hers.

"I'm Randy...I'm the guy that…" He gestured with one hand, as if he couldn't quite find the power to put it into words.

"…hit me on the highway." She finished his sentence, her voice was soft and unassuming, and yet it had the effect of a well placed punch in the nose.

"Yep, that, uh…" Randy rubbed his hand against the back of his head and stared at his shoes once more. "I guess that would be me."

The room fell silent, making the air between them heavy and uncomfortable

And neither seemed to know who should speak first.

Barren stared at his face for another moment, noticing the very deep cleft in his chin, and for the oddest reason she wanted to touch it. "Nice to meet you Randy." She spoke as if it were an everyday introduction, perhaps at a business meeting where they had shaken hands and been introduced by colleagues. But this was no ordinary intro, not for either one of them.

"So I didn't catch your name." Randy cleared his throat and tried once more. When he saw her lift the corner of her mouth to smile, it relieved him…somehow he felt he might have been hurt if she had been rude and rebuffed him.

"Doe…Jane Doe." She laughed softly when she said it, partially because laughing felt good and in part because it reminded her of an old James Bond intro. "I'll bet you wanna ask why I was in the road to begin with."

Randy nodded, he liked her right off the bat. "It had crossed my mind." He moved around to the side of the bed and sat in a chair.

"Well, it's because there are no pedestrian bridges over that section of the highway…" She began as seriously as a heart attack.

"And so you thought you'd just skate across the main four lanes?" Randy asked, with a smile planted on his face. "And in a nightgown?"

"Well you see, I was on my way to a slumber party." Barren joked. "And you?"

Randy sighed and clasped his hands behind his head. "I was on my way to the same party." He watched the girl laugh slightly, noting the volume of bruising that still couldn't hide the obvious athletic beauty that she had been blessed with at birth. Her face, though marred with the evidence of a scuffle of sorts, was angular and yet symmetrical. Her cheek bones were high and her jaw was strong, but feminine. Her wide-set eyes were a striking grey that seemed to remind him of both glittering ice and burnished silver. He couldn't help but be drawn in by the fringe of dark and long lashes, and the very slightest hint of freckles that trailed over the tip of her nose. Even with the blackened eye and the scrape on her chin, along with the greenish bruise on her right cheek, she was a beauty. Not so much like the models he saw in playboy or some of the Diva Search contestants he had passed the time with, but more like the mysterious girl on the motorcycle you see at a stoplight in a random town, or the female mechanic that you keep bringing your car to even when it's not broken, just because you can't get enough of her. He could imagine her on the business end of a hundred-twenty pound punching bag, dealing out a few fatal blows.

His fantasy was cut short by the entrance of the nurse, who was clearly just as angry at his presence as she was surprised that her patient was awake, talking and smiling.

"I told you once, last night that you couldn't be in here!" Lacey snapped, gesturing to Randy to get out.

Randy turned to take one last look at the 'Jane Doe' as he stood to leave. "Maybe when you're feeling better, you'll let me treat you to a cup of coffee." He smiled and tipped his chin. "Bye Jane." Passing the nurse he made an attempt at a nod, it only garnered him a fiercely scathing glare and a whiff of expensive cologne but before he departed through the open doorway, he heard 'Jane' speak.

Softly and with a grin she said simply. "Goodbye Randy."

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"The nurse is wise to us, she won't let us anywhere near Barren until after she wakes…and even then we're in line behind the Sheriff, who has a list of his own questions." Evan explained as he took a long draw from his cigarette.

"Is that a fact?" Sullivan spoke through the receiver.

"Ya, we'll have to wait until the next shift when the nurses change and then go back."

"Evan?" Sullivan tried to begin calmly, "Do ye have the slightest clue what in the hell would happen if they find out who she is? If she slips away and manages to get that key, and all of the information about Congressman McCaughey and his staff surfaces?"

Indeed Evan did know. It took no more than a split second for him to imagine the arrests that they would face, but moreover, it was the thought of his dear mother who was resting nicely in a townhouse in Ireland, catching a bullet at the hands of an insurgent, when the knowledge of his involvement came to light that prompted him to action.

"I don't give a damn, if ye have to burn the hospital to the ground to create a distraction, so long as you manage to get her out in the process and bring her to me." Sullivan told Evan. "Don't fuck up again, or I'll find somebody else to take care of the important details." He knew that Evan would understand the true meaning behind his words, as he broke the connection and tossed the cell phone onto the desk in his hotel room.

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"Well I know he's some sort of wrestler or something." Lacey explained to Barren. "And I know he didn't test positive for alcohol so he wasn't drinking when he hit you, and then hit the tree…I shouldn't be telling you about all of this." She moved to the side of Barren, whom she now knew as Katie Sterling, feeling her ribs for breaks, she continued. "And what's weirder, is that he was driving with a pregnant woman whom _he_ claims was just a 'friend'…don't know that I believe all of that, but since she hasn't regained consciousness, nobody knows whether he was telling the truth or whether they _were_ having an affair. I just know that her husband is a pretty big man and if I were her I wouldn't want to explain myself."

Barren knew immediately that the nurse was a malicious gossip, either that or Barren just had the kind of personality that made people feel like spilling their guts.

Lacey continued. "And her husband…huge fellow…doesn't seem to be all that mad, but I'm not sure how to read him…he has this perpetually harsh expression that makes you wanna look the other way when you see him…very intimidating, but at any rate, he seems to be friends with the guy that hit you…not sure how long that'll last if they find out there's infidelity involv—"

"Do you mind, if I ask for some water or something?" Barren was glad that none of her real information could have been gleaned from the few things they'd spoken about, knowing that this woman would have probably already made her the source of the unit's gossip.

"I sure can, but only after the doctor gives me the go ahead." Lacey let her patient lie back, we're gonna move you to the regular in-patient wing later today, but only after I talk to the sheriff about the fellows that were asking about you earlier.

Pretending not to know what had happened, Barren began to inquire about the men. She listened as Lacey told her about the details, conveniently leaving out the part about them accusing her of being a federal murder suspect. "I wouldn't worry Katie," Lacey said using the fake name that Barren had given her. "likely the sheriff will post a deputy outside of your door until everything gets cleared up…you'll be safe."

_'The hell I will!' _ Barren wanted to scream. She knew who the men were, and if they truly wanted to get at her, no small town deputy was going to stop them. And she knew now more than ever that she had to act quickly or else the presence of a deputy outside of her door was going to make it that much harder to leave. "Thanks." She said softly as Lacey excused herself, announcing that she was going to confer with the morning nurse who had just come on shift, and then she would make sure that the new nurse came around with something for her to eat and drink before they moved her.

Minutes after, Barren bolted up from the bed, ignoring her body's protest that came in the form of creaking, aching joints and a sharp pain in the ribs where she had been kicked by Teke when she was blindfolded in the warehouse two days ago. She pulled her belongings from the drawer, shredding the plastic baggie in the process. She praised God in His heaven when the key on the chain tumbled from within the pile of rancid, blood covered clothing, she slipped the key over her head and then ditching the clothing, by putting it back in the drawer, she rounded the bed to the cabinetry on the other side of the small room.

Barren dragged with her the IV pole, and tugged open the drawer finding an assortment of cotton balls, band-aids, swabs, jams and jellies. She slid the tape from her arm, freeing the needle, and then unceremoniously slid the needle from the vein, stemming the flow of blood with a cotton ball and securing it with a band-aid. She would have liked to sanitize it, but there was little time as it was, and tossing down the needle still dripping with the IV's saline solution, and smattering the floor with blood, Barren tiptoed to the door, cracking it to find that the triage desk was still full, of busy nurses. She bit off a curse, and glanced from left to right in the room suddenly laying eyes on the only thing that she knew could get everyone's attention simultaneously…the fire alarm.

Barren made her way over to the wall where the bright red pull latch could be found, and she lifted her unbroken arm and placed her fingers on the latch. She had no sooner prepared to pull it when she was startled by the sound of another alarm of a patient 'coding' on their floor in different, room. She skittered over to the door and peeked out watching as nurses scrambled down the hallway to the room where the alarm had sounded, leaving the desk unattended and Barren free to run.

And run she did, right out of her room, and into the one next to hers. She closed the door behind her, and turned to see a young woman in the bed, sleeping…a teen perhaps, but sadly the girl was hooked up to every machine and monitor known to man. In the corner was a duffle bag that apparently belonged to the woman and since no one was in the room with her, as much as Barren hated to do so, she knew that she couldn't go traipsing the countryside again only clothed in a gown. She knelt by the bag and shuffled through it, pulling from within one outfit and a pair of badly tattered flip-flops. She dressed quickly and then stuffed the hospital gown into the duffel, kicking the heavy bag gently back into position.

Another look out the patient's door told her that the nurses were still busy with the emergency. She would have made a mad dash for it altogether, had not she spotted the side profile of Evan, when the elevator doors opened a mere twenty feet away and so Barren once more slipped out unnoticed and into the patient's room, one door down, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

"Shit, shit, shit!" She whispered as she pressed her hands against the door in the dimly lit room. Knowing that she had to get away was one thing that certainly hadn't changed, but now that she knew she was in the vicinity of McCaughey's goons, the fact that she had the key, altered everything. Owen had told her that she had to ditch the key, if she were in danger of being caught with it. If she had the key in hand when they found her then they had little reason to keep her alive after the next phase of the hunt were determined. They would put her in a grave before the day was out.

She turned and frantically tried to allow her eyes to adjust so that she could make out her surroundings…and then Fate smiled on Barren. In the bed, less than five feet away, was the perfect hiding place for the key…the woman…the third piece of the puzzle…the third party involved in her very own wreck. She knew from the nurse's gossip that the woman hadn't regained consciousness and as confirmed, she was indeed sleeping soundly. The presence of a couple of shopping bags in the corner, told her that the woman's husband had probably bought her clothing and needed items for when she awoke. All Barren had to do was hide the key with the woman, and then come back in a few hours and retrieve it. She might have to wait until the night shift again when the flow of nurses was minimal, but it was the best option she had.

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Dave Batista had heard the 'code' called over the PA system and immediately he had ditched his breakfast in order to get back up to the unit and make certain that it wasn't his wife who had 'coded', but his efforts were hampered by the slow elevator. In his impatience he wanted to slam his fist through the control panel, but if that weren't bad enough, it was stopping on every single floor to pick up and release passengers.

Finally when the elevator door opened on the intensive care floor, he prepared to step out and was impeded by a chatty male nurse who was apparently trying to get a date from the hospital maid. The cart, the nurse and the maid were blocking his way and after two disregarded verbal attempts to gain passage, Dave lost his temper and forcibly tipped the cart on its side sending it out of the way. "_Excuse_ me." He said again on a barely leashed roar as he brushed past the stunned nurse and the fear stricken maid, whose lower lip began to quiver.

There was nothing he could do to get into the unit itself, for they had slid the massive doors shut the minute the code had sounded, not allowing anyone in or out. All Dave Batista could do was pace outside of the door, in fear, not knowing, until a voice of reassurance appeared from behind him.

"It's not her." Randy said, holding a magazine in one hand, clasping his friend's shoulder with the other. "It's an old man on the other side of the unit…" he continued when he saw the look of questioning in his friend's eyes. "Nurses talk…it came over voice pager on the nurse in the break room, before they shut the doors."

Dave was visibly relieved and he leaned against the wall, sighing as if the action could expel the weighty turmoil within him. "Fuck…" he muttered in a low voice. "I don't know how much more of this I'm supposed to take."

"Let's go sit down in here until they reopen the unit." Randy suggested, pointing to the waiting room.

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Inside the locked down unit, Barren was waiting, watching discreetly through the door, thankful that the pregnant woman's husband was gone so she could ditch the key and certainly she was glad that the main doors of the unit had closed off completely, which told her that she had the perfect means of escape as soon as the nurses resolved the current 'Code'. Another swift glance through the doorway, told her that Evan and his two henchmen were none too comfortable with all of the hustle through the halls, and yet they were still reacting just the way they had been schooled to react. One of the larger men was blocking the view of any passerby, while Evan peeked through a file on the desk. The third in their group was acting as a decoy, by venturing slightly further down the hall so he could get the attention of anyone who might happen to come their direction.

Presumably they were acquainting themselves with her location in the unit, for in seconds, Evan was nodding his head, and subtly using military tactical hand signals to indicate that they station themselves around the room. She winced as she closed the door, another barely audible stream of curses tumbled from her bruised and split lips. The 'code' had to end soon, so that the doors could open or she might very well be caught hiding in the wrong room.

Like an answered prayer, the alarms ceased and a quick peek through the door showed that the large sliding doors on her end of the unit, as well as the ones on the other end, were now opening. Knowing she had to give it a few seconds, she breathed deeply, closed her eyes in concentration, trying to focus. She had already stashed the key in the safest possible place and after confirming that the opportune time was now, she leaned over the pregnant woman.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." She whispered, knowing that she could never intentionally harm an innocent human being, not even to save her own ass. She couldn't take this woman's life in order to cause another code, but she certainly had no qualms about unplugging the one machine that she knew those nurses would be watching like a hawk.

Barren acted quickly, pulling the cord to the fetal monitoring machine from the wall knowing that although it wasn't necessary for the baby's survival, as it was externally applied, it would however detect a loss of heartbeat and would send the nurses running, and as soon as the alarms sounded, before the nurses could determine from which room they came, she slipped from the room unnoticed by the nursing staff and squeezed sideways through the heavy mechanical main doors that were now sliding shut on their own. She knew Evan had seen her, for he barked out her name, unheeding of the many people around, but thankfully the doors had closed not to be reopened until after this 'code' passed and the locks could be deactivated. She was free to run while Evan and his goons were trapped inside of the intensive care unit.

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Randy had just plunked another seventy-five cents in the temperamental break-room vending machine when he heard the voice pager on the hip of the attractive female physician.

"Dr. Cage, please respond, to 'code'…room 102."

The pager crackled and then ceased to sound, but not before Randy had remembered the room number…_102_…it was Nancy's room.

It took less than a second to determine that the hulky frame of the man who had shoved past an orderly and squeezed though the main doors as they closed belonged to that of his buddy Dave Batista. Apparently he had heard the alarm and was taking no chances. Rushing up to the doors did Randy no good, however, for they closed before he could get through them and he was left with nothing to do but wait and pray that it wasn't what he thought it was.

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Dave Batista stalked the short distance from the main doors to the door of his wife's room which was now partially opened, but flanked by the three men he had passed earlier in the morning when he'd gone downstairs to eat. Whatever reason they had to be in front of his wife's room was no reason he was willing to hear…the mere fact that the alarm had sounded and that they were stationed near her door, was enough of a reason to start his blood boiling.

A sharp stare, pinned the three men, two of whom were equal in size to Dave himself. He didn't care…he'd come out on top in worse odds than these.

"Unless you have a good reason for being in front of my wife's door, you need to move." Dave's voice was oily, dangerous; his jaw possessed of a strange twitch.

Neither of the two large men moved from the doorway. "We'll be out of the way in a minute or two…we just heard the alarm and wanted to make certain that this room wasn't the one in which _my_ wife was residing."

It was a lie that Dave could see clearly. "You'll move now." Dave announced, his shoulders tensing as they often did before conflict. "Or I'll move all three of you." He ignored the chuckle from one of the larger men, and still never took his eyes off of Evan.

"No worries, man." Evan held his arms to his sides in a gesture of peace, reluctant to bring anymore conspicuousness' to their already noticeable entourage "Sorry for the offense." All three men stood aside.

Dave said nothing as he brushed past them, shoulder checking Evan in the process. He entered the room in time to see one nurse plugging the cord of one machine back into the wall, and another nurse with a handheld doppler running the probe over Nancy's stomach. He assumed that they were seeking a heartbeat, and he was certain his own heart had stopped in the few seconds it took them to find it in his son…strong and steady.

"I'm not sure how that cord fell out of the wall." The nurse looked sheepishly at Dave. "Coulda been bumped by a maid, but I have no idea whether she was in here or not."

"No big deal." Dr. Cage said, resetting the numbers on the machine, and taking a reading to calibrate it. "She's fine, and that alarm just reaffirms for me that we're on our toes."

"It's just the machine, not her?" Dave asked, shuffling between the nurses to the side of the bed.

"She's fine…" Dr. Cage nodded. "And he's fine too. I'm bringing another machine up from downstairs just to be sure that we don't have the cord fall out again. Strangest thing." Dr Cage shook her head. "I've never seen that happen before, but there's a first time for everything I guess."


	8. Chapter 7

**Uncommon Bond**

Chapter 7

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Memory is a person's real possession...In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor."

- Alexander Smith (Scottish Essayist ad poet – 1830-1867)

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Two home decorating magazines and a neck cramp later, Dave Batista had finally come to the realization that he'd better stand up and move around, either that or be in danger of developing such severe stiffness that he'd have to be pried from the tiny chair. Very few places on the planet made things ergonomically friendly for larger men…hospitals, he discovered, were no different. He rolled his massive shoulders and tossed down the magazine, watching as a small insert fluttered from between the pages, no doubt an offer for a subscription or something equally uninteresting. He had made the decision not to leave the hospital room, until she had awakened, unless it was to use the payphone on the wall outside in the hall, and he was steadfastly sticking to his guns. It was almost a certainty, every time he left, something was bound to happen.

He stood and twisted at the waist, working a kink out of his back and then he leaned down to let his wife know that he was stepping out in the hall to make a phone call. He was still bothered by the fact that she couldn't respond and the waiting for her to finally awaken was torture. He grazed an open palm over her belly and then made his way out of the room. Cell phones were forbidden in the ICU, because of their interference with the lifesaving electronic devices, so Dave plunked half a handful of shiny coins into the payphone and dialed his sister Lydia's cell phone number. He knew that she would answer no matter what she was doing and it would help to have the reassurance of a comforting voice about right now. The electronic trill, told him that he'd connected, and in a few rings, he heard the familiar and cheerful voice of his sister.

"Hello?" She spouted the greeting softly, but expectantly as if she'd been somehow waiting for her brother to call. She was one in a long list of people that he'd not had time to phone since Nancy's arrival at the hospital, but he'd known he could count on his ex-wife Angie to let everyone else know. Though divorced for nearly 4 years, the two still had a very amicable and friendly relationship and the fact that Angie was now in a serious relationship with the math teacher from Audrey's private school didn't hurt either. Both had moved on but had always stuck by the decision to be kind to one another and to work together to bring about what was best for their daughters.

"You must be heading to work." He concluded hearing the sound of traffic in the background. It left him feeling a little lame, he was saying just the first thing he could think of in an effort to keep his voice calm, or at the very least to sound a little less depressed.

"Hey." Lydia's voice was smooth and comforting as soon as she recognized her brother's voice. "I was hoping you'd call…Angie phoned me last night to let me know what happened, but she didn't go into detail." Lydia told him. "I could hear Vanessa in the background, she sounds pretty upset."

"Angie can fix it." Dave admitted, knowing that if Vanessa was upset or afraid, it was completely averse to her usual calm nature and hearing that the incident had affected her didn't surprise him, Vanessa had always been a softy and now she had a close bond with her stepmother, he knew that since he couldn't be there to comfort her that Angie would have things well in hand.

"I think she's just scared, David." Lydia continued. "Audrey seemed okay when I talked to her, but I know she's worried…because she cut the conversation short and made some excuse to go outside and play, when usually she just talks your ear off." She sighed. "Do you know anything new so far?"

"There's no lasting damage from the impact to her head…just some minor swelling, which as far as they can tell is a miracle." Dave said, admitting what he knew and had thanked God a thousand times for already. "All we're waiting on is for her to wake up so that they can run their tests on her. I have no clue when they'll dismiss us."

He could hear Lydia pause, as if she were unsure as to whether she should ask the question weighing on her heart and how in the world she should ask it if she wanted to. "And the baby?" Her voice came forth as more of a soft rasp than a clear inquiry.

"He's fine, so far…as best as they can tell, he's perfect." And he was…Dave knew it even as he spoke that he would only speak in the positive, because nothing else was acceptable.

"_He_?" Lydia's voice instantly changed into a more cheerful note. "I thought Nancy didn't know yet, I mean, when I called her two days ago, she said you guys were just gonna wait and be surprised." She stopped for a moment. "Did they find out when they were examining her…after…?" She stumbled over the words, as if she felt guilty even asking.

"No, oddly enough…Nancy left me a surprise sonogram picture when she left for the airport and I found out just last night." He said. "But the doctor did confirm that little fact for me when they checked her out…so it's official. I'm not _completely_ outnumbered anymore." He laughed softly, along with Lydia who found the thought funny as well.

"I _cannot_ wait." Lydia announced firmly. "We have no 'boy' kiddos in the family right now and _one_ at least will be nice to have around...can you imagine how spoiled he'll be?" She attempted to bring a more cheerful light on the situation.

"I agree, especially when Vanessa gets her hands on him…" Dave said leaning back against the wall as he spoke. He was tired…damn tired, and sore. "Do you mind checking on everyone for me, and _please_ make sure that Audrey doesn't somehow end up opening all of her gifts from us before we get there, make sure that the gifts _stay_ at our house and don't somehow make it over to Angie's place in Audrey's suitcase?" He referred to his youngest daughter who had already been caught shaking, sniffing, and shuffling every package under the tree. She'd even tried manipulation tactics, trickery and as a result of her newfound love of magicians, threatened hypnosis to get Nancy and Dave to reveal the contents of her brightly wrapped packages.

He smiled when he thought of how his eight year old daughter had hopped up in his lap and used her heart locket, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum to mesmerize him, while speaking in a monotone voice, repeating her command for him to _'Sleep deep'_ and then _'Tell your daughter what you bought her.'_ And though the trick hadn't truly worked, he had pretended that he was hypnotized, murmuring a few inaccurate clues, long enough to get her to let her guard down, at which point he had flipped her upside down into the air, over his shoulder and spun her around like an airplane until she couldn't even walk a straight line.

"Angie cancelled her trip to Hawaii with Nick and instead she's opted to have the whole family over to her place for dinner, so I'll be there and I'll make sure that Audrey behaves." Lydia told him and then she explained that she was headed for the toll booth and that she'd have to call him back later.

The two siblings shared their good-byes and agreed to speak again within a day, and then Dave hung the phone up and took the time to use the wide hallway to stretch out his aching joints.

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So bright, maybe she was outdoors on a beach somewhere or perhaps not. Awake? No, surely not, for she couldn't possibly be awake and feel this terrible. Dead, dying…likely…it could be the only explanation for the fierce throbbing in her head that rivaled the percussion section of an orchestra. It was entirely possible that the pounding in her head was coming from a beating…it certainly felt as though she were being pummeled. _Thump, thump, thump…_And with every evil beat came the sharpest most piercing pain she'd ever known. The eyes weren't opening. That was for damn sure…and if it hurt this bad just to lie here, there was no way the eyes were _coming_ open.

Now to orient herself…to figure out where, what and why. Try as she might, that wasn't happening either…no clear pattern of thought could be discerned out of the stampede of elephants running through her brain. It was hard to move. Something parallel to being mummified…impossible to roll with the tangle of covers and even with her eyes closed she could clearly tell that the blankets would put up a fight, one that she wouldn't win. One hand made its way slowly upward to find the source of the intense throbbing, and made contact with a thick, wide bandage covering her forehead. Touching it sent a bolt of white-hot pain stabbing through the front of her skull. Another round of thumping began, this time more concentrated and for the life of her she could not give birth to an epithet befitting of it.

Eyes still closed, not daring to open them, she pulled her hand down to her side and in the process it grazed her enormous belly…the presence of which suddenly jarred her muddled brain into a state of confusion…was she obese? No…Pregnant. The eyes that had only seconds ago protested at the mere implication of opening suddenly fluttered open, causing a searing pain despite the dim light level in the room. Her fingers curled into the sheet and she whimpered with the pain. The dizzying blurriness subsided in several seconds, affording her the opportunity to glance down at the sizeable lump under the white sheets and to be cloaked by the sheer horror of what was going on.

A voice, deep and fluid…a word from the other side of the room, possibly…she wasn't sure she could even determine _where_ it was coming from. Hearing it told her she was not alone. And yet it was a voice she didn't recognize, and a face unfamiliar to her.

"Babe?" the voice lent endearment to the simple word, even as he came to stand next to her bed for a second, and then he slipped out of her line of sight. He must have left the room, because she heard the sound of the door opening and then an unintelligible stream of words in the distance.

Soon a nurse was entering the room and standing next to the bed, immediately slipping a blood pressure cuff over her arm, and the head of her stethoscope in the bend of her arm, as he rounded the other side once more. It was perplexity and panic, at his words, his size…his presence, coupled with the nurse and her prodding, her questions…her summations. It was when he leaned down to place a kiss on her cheekbone that she began to lose control over her bearings. Nancy could not stop the sting of the hot tears that sprung to her eyes and then fell down her cheeks, even as her breathing became more uneven and her hand pushed gently at the much larger hand that was resting on her shoulder.

She watched as a look of confusion pleated the big man's brow and she felt a flicker of fear. "Babe?" Again, a term of endearment…a question, as if he meant to ask if she were okay or perhaps why she had pushed his hand away, when even she wasn't certain why she had.

"Sweety, I need you to concentrate on breathing normally." The nurse, who had become concerned with her increased breathing, spoke to her calmly. "I'll have to give you oxygen if you can't calm down and breath normally, this isn't good for your baby."

The nurse seemed nice, concerned even, but calming down was not an option, the inherent inclination to panic had already taken over.

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Perhaps she might have been more than a little afraid, or her tears might have even been a result of her thankfulness at being alive, but he hadn't anticipated the panic. He certainly couldn't understand why she grazed his hand sending it off of her shoulder.

"Nancy?" He leaned in. He'd been through the turmoil once before when she'd dislocated her shoulder in the ring…she'd come unglued when the doctors had come near her, and he'd been able to calm her down then. He was certain that she just needed to hear him out and she'd be fine this time too. "Baby, listen to me…" The tiny hand he gently grasped, she pulled just as gently away from his grip.

It was apparent that there was something wrong and he watched as she looked directly at the nurse and in a rather alarming and trembling tone announced. "I don't know who he is."

He knew that he would have been shocked to see his own face and if he hadn't known better he might have even thought that Nancy was joking, because she was famous for that sort of thing. She wasn't looking at him and as he began to speak to her and attempt to hold her tremulous hand, she began to pull away in what could only be termed as fear and confusion. She had never been afraid of him, ever, and on top of his own inability to process what was going on he was suddenly afflicted with a severe case of anger at the whole situation.

The nurse leaned over her and he watched his wife whisper in the woman's ear and then the nurse, who evidently knew more about the situation then he did, began to usher him out of the room. "Sir, I need to get the doctor for your wife, if you could just please come out into the hall with me." Her attempt to put a hand on his back and lead him was impeded by his size and his unwillingness to move from the spot.

"What in the hell is going on?" his voice was tense, and there was no disguising his irritation. "I'm not leaving until I know what's wrong with her."

"Sir, _please_…just come out here for a few minutes until we can get her settled." The nurse cast a glance over her shoulder to the woman in the bed who was tearful as she looked at the huge and highly aggravated man at her bedside.

"I already told you I'm not moving" Dave repeated, turning to look down on his wife who had apparently decided that her view of the opposite wall was far more desirable than looking at him. "She's acting like she can't even remember who I am!" he became even more temperamental as the nurse began to speak over him.

"That's because she _can't_." The nurse widened her eyes pursing her lips and began to push again at his back. His black eyes suddenly filled with shock and the temporary stun of the nurse's statement suddenly stole his resistance and made it far easier for the nurse to get him moving, and she did so…getting him into the hall in short order and closing the door after him.

"What are you—? She can't remember me?" His brows arched and his annoyance melted into sorrow and then hope. "That's temporary right? In a few minutes she'll be okay, right? That's normal for head injuries isn't it?" He rattled off the questions, like erratic, ill-aimed gunfire, even as he was backing up toward the closed door as if he intended to reenter with or without consent.

"I have to get the doctor to take a look at her, _please_ stay out of there." The nurse practically begged as she grasped his arm and tugged. "_Sir_!"

"This is bullshit…that's my wife!" He snapped, his face quickly becoming a mask of hard-etched, marbleized fury. He then turned and placed his hand on the latch. "She knows who I am…she's just scared, she just doesn't know what happened. I'll just talk to her and then—"

"Dave…" Randy who had ventured upstairs to visit his friend had caught wind of a portion of the conversation along with the nurse's desperate pleading and he reached out to assist the nurse in keeping Dave out of the way so that a doctor could make an assessment. "Dave…come on, man." He also found himself hard pressed to move his friend, whose frame was as stationary as a Roman column. "Just give 'em a minute so they can see what's wrong."

The comment elicited a hard glare from Dave, who forcibly shrugged Randy's hand off of his arm. The logics of the situation seemed to seep into Dave's bristling brain and he finally consented and walked ahead of Randy toward the triage desk. A doctor in pearly white attire brushed past him and swept into his wife's room along with the nurse who was chattering some sort of medical enigma into his ear. Dave watched as the two disappeared behind the door and closed it, a tall female nurse in her mid-forties, built like an NFL linebacker stepped in front of the door and after Dave got a good look at her, he decided that getting past her might prove a challenge. She was a big woman. It might even require a body-slam or two and he wasn't completely sure who would be on the receiving end. He would be forced to wait until the staff saw fit to let him in on the mystery.

"Things are gonna be fine, this is all routine…they make everyone leave when a patient gets unsettled, once she calms down they'll let you back in." Randy said, trying to reassure Dave.

No words came out of his mouth, but the intense glower on his hardened features spoke volumes…and because Randy was familiar with Dave Batista from their time together in _'Evolution'_, he knew that the expression said quite clearly 'Fuck Off'.

Randy wasn't tempted to say anything more, knowing the risk for affront on his friend's part and so he simply stood by for support, whether it was needed or not, because it was the least he could do. It was, after all _his_ fault that any of this had happened to begin with. And now it was back…the urge to feel sorry for his self, fusing with the familiar feeling of having failed someone or something, yet again.

He was just about to indulge in the little fantasy of _'woe is me'_, when another nurse came rushing out of Jane Doe's room, a look of barely veiled horror on her face. She swept around the side of the desk, whispering and gesturing wildly to the dayshift charge nurse, who in turn gave a look of incredulous doubt.

"_No_, I didn't discharge her to the inpatient floor." The charge nurse announced furiously, as if the implication were preposterous.

"Well then, she's gone." The younger nurse said, biting her lip. "The bed's all rumpled and her garbage bag, and the…undergarment thing, she was found with is wadded up in the nightstand drawer!" The nurse was nearly hopping in her agitation. "She pulled the IV out and everything…it's on the floor!" Her revelation came out only slightly discreetly, through clenched teeth.

Their voices became louder by the minute as the charge nurse attempted to discredit the young nurse's theory that her patient was indeed gone. The overheard conversation sent a cold chill trickling up Randy Orton's spine and somehow he _knew_ that she would be gone. He tried to lend an ear to their furious chatter and after the charge nurse zipped across the hall and into the room, he stood observing the whole incident, half expecting to hear the woman scream in frustration as she came flying from the room, her pallor noticeably more grave, immediately snatching the desk phone from the receiver. In a trembling and utterly shaken voice, she began to ask the party to whom she was speaking if anyone from the inpatient floor had moved the 'Jane Doe' from ICU.

Apparently her worst fears were confirmed, for she chewed the corner of her lip furiously as she hung the phone up and redialed another number. "Diane? Lacey was the nurse in charge last night…I need her cell number _now_."

Another nurse standing nearby informed the charge nurse that Lacey was in the cafeteria having breakfast before going home.

The charge nurse hung the phone up without bothering to wait, and dialed yet another number. In seconds, she was connected to an overhead intercom and paged Lacey back to the ICU.

Dave Batista watched the interaction with absolute contempt. It was obvious that this hospital had its share of questionable incidents, he almost felt like laughing, and he would have if he hadn't been so angry. He merely stood watching with his arms crossed over his thick chest, a look of barely checked ire on his face.

The charge nurse was impatiently tapping her ink pen against the counter top with one hand, while the other was pressed against her forehead as if she were trying to figure out how in the world something of this nature could have possibly happened. The ICU was in complete chaos in only a few minutes and as if that weren't bad enough, Sheriff Don Kinzey strolled off of the elevator and into the ICU with all of the ceremony of a true pompous ass.

"Holy hell." Randy muttered on a frustrated sigh the moment he caught sight of the over inflated lawman and was half tempted to make himself scarce, but instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and pasted on his trademark smirk, because that's what he would have done in the ring…and in the ring he never failed…in the ring he could be anybody...and right now he wasn't sure if he could do anything _but_ pretend he was someone else.

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Hunched up behind a row of cardboard boxes, in the cargo hold of the hospital linen delivery truck, Barren began to invent new swear words every time it barreled around another curve slamming her already battered body into the sidewall of the trailer. She had chosen the truck to hide in, only because the loading dock happened to be the closest exit to where she'd ended up after finding her way from ICU down to the freight elevator.

She was slightly excited to find that there was an over abundance of clean hospital scrubs inside the truck, just waiting to be delivered to the next facility on the driver's list, but the only ones she had been particularly interested in were the ones with **_Oregon Health Sciences Center_** logo emblazoned on the upper left pocket of the scrub top. She had helped herself to one complete ensemble in her petite size, with the intention of using it later to retrieve her key, and rolled it up, tucking it and her body down low behind the row of boxes, not yet delivered.

The huge truck made one more sharp and violent turn, sending a box off of the top of the row and down on Barren and then it came to a screeching halt.

"Motherfu—" Barren swallowed the epithet and stayed still, long enough for the driver to hoist the door open and make his way onto the ramp and into the trailer to retrieve his load.

Barren listened as the driver whistled a badly tuned rendition of the 'Love Boat' theme while he shuffled boxes, this way and that. He exited soon after and since he had not closed the trailer door, Barren pushed the box off of her head made her get away, but not before slipping into the cab of the truck and palming several large bills from the driver's collection bag. She might have felt guilty if not for the survival instinct that kicked in telling her that she had to get moving before the Congressman's men caught on to the notion that she had escaped in the back of the linen truck.

As she made a break for it down the alley behind the small clinic, she couldn't help but wonder about the tall stranger in the hospital, whose out of control car had gifted her with the stiff white cast on her arm. Barren wished that the niggling feeling would go away, but she couldn't shake it…he was intriguing…and he was bound to be in a lot of trouble now that she was gone and unable to answer the sheriff's questions. It couldn't be helped…he would be there facing the brunt of the whole deal, and Barren cold only wish she didn't feel so damned bad about it.

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Nothing…She could put a finger on absolutely _nothing_. Not the room, not the nurse. The round belly was certainly a dramatic shock and as unfamiliar as the man who had been extracted from room seconds ago. If she could remember where she was, who she was, it would be one thing…but it was a complete blank. Instead of resting on a common thought, a place of familiarity somewhere, her mind darted to and fro, scrambling for something…anything and yet, it caught hold of…_nothing_.

She made an effort to calm herself down while she lay alone in the dim room and she glided her hand over the stomach that housed an unborn child that she didn't remember being pregnant with. The other hand swiped angrily at the tears dripping unchecked down the side of her face and she was thankful that the throbbing in her head had subsided somewhat. But perhaps it was only because she was being distracted by something else, that she didn't feel the throb. In the dead center of her right butt cheek, there was a scratchy jabbing pain and she struggled to reach beneath the rumpled sheet and acquaint herself with the source of it.

Her finger grazed something warm and metallic in nature and as she slid it out she was yet again perplexed to find a key dangling from a rather boyish, thick ball-chain. Another thing she didn't remember…but why would it be hiding underneath her? Had she hidden it and if so why? She shut her eyes and wished that she knew what had happened, why her brain refused to clue her in on who she was and what she was doing in a hospital bed with an obviously banged up head, and holding a key that had been hiding under her very own derriere.

She palmed the key and chain and wedged it beneath her bottom once more when she heard the anxious voices outside of the door and she smoothed the covers over herself again. She didn't know the nature of the key and wasn't sure that she should tell anyone about it either. There must have been a reason why she was hiding it and until she knew a little more about who she was and what was going on, then she felt justified in keeping it a secret.

"Well." The doctor smiled as he stepped into the room with the nurse in tow. "Looks like we've had some excitement in here this morning, huh?"

Even though she felt like responding with _'Yeah, no shit'_, she didn't, she nodded and allowed him to reach out and hold open her eyelids as he shone a bright pen light in succession into each, which had the effect of holding a welding torch up her nasal passages, sending her light sensitive eyes immediately watering once more. He then asked the nurse to help her sit up and then felt around the back of her head and neck gently with finger tips and looking again into her eyes.

"Cindy tells me that when you woke up you were a little bit upset because you aren't sure if you can remember anything." The doctor spoke as if she were a child.

Again the urge to be sarcastic swept over her…she was _definitely_ sure she couldn't remember anything, but she nodded in lieu of telling him the first words that came to mind.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions so that I can better determine how to help you?"

She nodded and then placed a hand on her forehead, wincing when she felt a sharp twinge.

"Can you tell me your name?" the doctor asked.

It was a simple question; one that anyone on the planet with a voice and natural cognizance should be able to answer and yet her mind clammed up, even as she scrambled for a name, hers or anyone else's for that matter. Nancy shook her head slowly.

"You don't remember the fellow who was in here a moment ago?" the doctor asked and palmed his ink pen and the patient chart.

That question had her suddenly off balance, not that it would have been difficult to answer, but because he seemed so intense when he'd looked at her earlier, so angry. She shook her head and felt tears begin to burn behind her eyelids as question after question, was fired at her, and time and again they were unanswerable to her.

The physician scribbled a few sentences onto her chart and then he began to fill her in on some of the obvious specifics. "You've been in an automobile accident and unconscious for sometime. You sustained a head injury and it appears that's resulted in a loss of memory."

The tears that had been hiding behind her eyes pushed forth and she wiped again at them.

"Your baby is fine though and so everything else is something we can work through…everything else is minor in light of that."

She didn't know why she felt such a measure of relief when she heard him tell her that her baby was safe. Surely if she was so far along, she must already have developed a bond with the baby. Surely it had been a baby that she wanted…that she had planned for.

"I'd like to get your husband in here so that I can speak with him about the condition, and now that you're awake, I'd like to test your motor skills, but I'll perform those tests later."

Her husband? Was he the big guy in the foul mood? The one who seemed heated about being made to leave? "I don't know him…I can't remember him." She spoke as if saying it would keep them from allowing him back in.

"Sweety, he's your husband." The nurse told her.

"Is that my name? _Sweety_? Or do you have something better you can call me by." Nancy snapped, tearfully.

"I'm sorry…I call everyone Sweety, it's just habit." Cindy said, feeling suddenly very sympathetic toward her patient. "Your name is Nancy. I'll call you that from now on. And I hope you don't mind, but I've been asked to give you something to help you relax." The nurse injected a fetal safe drug into the port of the IV line, and helped tuck the covers loosely around her patient. "Maybe you should just rest for awhile and we can piece things back together later." She snapped the overhead light off and exited the room where the doctor had earlier gone.

_Nancy_. So that was her name…not regal by any means, not even memorable, just plain and ordinary…that probably lent to her inability to remember it. She slid her hand under her buttocks and pulled out the key, cupping it and the chain in her hand and after a fair amount of struggling, she managed to roll to her left side and wrap her arms around the pillow for a measure of comfort. She felt very sleepy when the fast acting drug began to take affect, and so, she tucked the key under her hip, down low, and then placed her free hand on her belly.

A tiny pulse of movement and then a much harder jerk, which she only assumed could be a kick, brought her thoughts to the tiny child, who aside from a key on a chain, was the _only_ thing of importance that she truly knew about herself. She held onto her stomach with the free hand as if it were all she had, because aside from that key, the tiny child inside of her was the starting point of her entire new history.

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"She was in there when I left the unit!" Lacey defended herself, not only against the onslaught of harsh accusations from the charge nurse, but also against the gamut of questions being spouted out in unison by the Sheriff. "I called for Dr. Chantre, as soon as I knew that she was awake and Chantre assured me that after he finished his rounds he would be back to run tests and check her over!" Lacey was exceptionally infuriated that the current mishap that was being attributed to her negligence.

"When was the last time that you saw her?" The charge nurse asked angrily, as she tried to keep her voice low.

"I just told you that!" Lacey tilted her head, eyes wide as if she couldn't believe she was being made to repeat herself. "She woke, I checked her vitals, I went through the procedures that the hospital requires and then I went back out to sign off on the chart." Lacey spouted off each admission with an exasperated shake of her hand. She stared at her shoes, and chewed her lip as she mentally retraced her steps. "There were three men here earlier, _one_ of them was claiming to be her husband, and I ended up sending them packing."

"Who were they?" The sheriff blurted. "And more to the point…why did you fail to mention that when you asked me if I had phoned her family?"

Lacey huffed in frustration. "I came back and told the men to leave—"

"And you didn't call security?" The charge nurse asked.

"Dammit, I can handle an incident without having to call security for every little thing!" Lacey scowled. "After I got rid of them, I went back into her room to check on her for the first time…and I had to tell _him_ to leave." Lacey pointed directly across the hallway toward the two tall wrestlers who were both standing as imposing and unapproachable as a pair of marble statues. "The guy who ran over her…_he_ was in there with her again, I've had to tell him twice to stay out of her room…once last night and then again this morning."

Everyone's curious gaze followed her outstretched arm and all eyes locked on Randy Orton, who let out the softest hiss of a curse as soon as he realized he would again have to deal with Sheriff Don Kinzey.

"I made him leave and then I checked her over just like I told you I did." Lacey explained. "And then we had a 'code' and then a mishap with the fetal monitor in _102_… after all of that was over with, Dr. Chantre had everything in hand and signed me off."

The sheriff wasn't nearly as interested in whether Lacey held any culpability in the woman's disappearance as he was in making sure he could exert some authority over the man he most considered a nuisance. He stalked from the side of hallway coming to a stop in front of Randy Orton. "What a coincidence…you run a poor woman down on the highway and then the minute you get wind of the charges you might face, _she_ ends up disappearing."

"I think you've been watching too much _Murder She Wrote_." Randy smirked and told the sheriff. "I've been here all morning long, I never saw her leave and if I took her, honestly, where in the hell would I have put her?" He raised his arms and gestured to his body as if to indicate that he couldn't be hiding her anywhere on his person.

"Maybe it's just more than a coincidence." Don Kinzey said, standing toe to toe with the tall wrestler. "Three men show up and then after they leave, you end up in her room again, _without_ permission…and then a hundred and twenty pounds of female flesh just goes missing…funny."

"She _was_ awake, was she not?" Randy asked rhetorically, running his tongue over his bottom lip and then smiling. "Did it ever occur to you that she could have left of her own accord? Just…you know…walked out on her own two feet?" There was no missing his sarcasm, as he held his two fingers up and pretended they were walking.

"Well, in either case, I believe that I finally have enough to go on, and I'm justified in arresting you for criminal negligence." Sheriff Kinsey, slid his handcuffs from the snapping closure on the back of his belt and then began to read Randy his rights.

Dave Batista watched without making any effort to stop it or to interfere. "I'll call your lawyer." He said smoothly as he watched his friend being handcuffed. He knew Randy wasn't responsible for the girl, but nothing he said would have stopped the situation at hand, and he knew that allowing the sheriff to arrest him on a bogus charge, would in fact be to Randy's benefit should the county try to hold him to any of the charges to which they might be at liberty. He would be better served in allowing the well versed, high dollar attorney wield his legal knowledge and find a loophole.

Dave had no problem signing an affidavit to what he knew, and no problem testifying to what he knew in court if it were required, but at this very moment there was nothing he could do to help his friend and so he offered the only service he was capable of giving, and that was to contact the attorney that he knew would do the best job.

Randy nodded and allowed himself to be led away, amidst the murmurs of the nurses, all except for Lacey, who had shifted the heat of blame from herself to him. But knowing the charge nurse, Lacey wouldn't be out of hot water just yet.

"Excuse me, Sir, uh…Mr. Bautista?" Dr. Chantre stepped from room 102 where he had just questioned his pregnant patient. "I need to speak with you right away."

"Dr. Chantre, we have a problem." The charge nurse stepped forward, blocking his path."

He gently raked her aside with a soft sweep of his arm. "Not now, Beth." His voice was stiff and harsh as his glare alighted on his obviously deficient medical staff. "I'll deal with all of _you_ in a minute." He pulled Dave Batista aside and away from the melee.

"What's going on?" Dave asked in a less than gentle voice.

"You're aware that your wife sustained a fairly hard bump on the head, right?" Dr. Chantre asked, slipping his glasses from his shirt pocket and sliding them on as he carefully regarded the man in front of him. "Imagine that the human brain inside of the skull is something resembling a balloon inside of a box, not much larger than its own circumference." He gestured with his hands as he spoke. "When your wife's skull hit the dash, her brain bounced inside of the skull, much like the balloon would have…impact at the front of her skull means that her brain bounced hitting the back of her skull, then the front, and then the back again." He whipped his hand back and forth as if to indicate how her brain had moved.

Dave Batista thought he might be sick at the explanation that he was receiving from the doctor, but he tried to pay close attention nonetheless.

"What I'm basically working up to is that the impact and the subsequent swelling has caused a loss of memory. Your wife…has amnesia." Dr, Chantre told him.

"Amnesia." Dave stated, not as a question but so calmly it was almost as if he couldn't believe it would be possible. "This is temporary, though, right?"

"Well, there's no telling really…your wife has retrograde amnesia, meaning that she can't remember anything that happened prior to the accident. Normally an impact _can_ cause temporary memory loss though not always…But since it's a medical impossibility to sustain a blow to the head that leaves you unconscious and remember the moments directly before or after the blow some slight loss of memory is usually always common, even if it's a loss of only minutes or hours." Dr. Chantre explained. "So although I would not have been surprised to see that your wife wouldn't remember the accident, I am disappointed to see that she is experiencing such a great degree of memory loss."

"She has no clue who I am, does she?" Dave asked, thinking about how fearful she had appeared when he'd tried to speak to her in her first waking moments, how she'd looked at his as if he were a complete stranger.

"No, Sir. She, uh…she doesn't remember you at all." Chantre said in a low sympathetic voice. "She doesn't know you, she knows nothing about her past, not her name or her age, or why or how she got where she is…It won't be uncommon for her to remember very basic things. Things associated with normal everyday activities, tying shoes, driving a car, cooking a meal…"

"She never knew how to cook anyhow, so we really wouldn't count it much of a loss." Dave began, trying to make light of the situation, because that's what Nancy would have done…if she could remember how funny she actually was. "But this isn't supposed to last for very long, a couple of days at most, maybe…right?"

"I can't guarantee that she'll wake up tomorrow and remember." Dr. Chantre said wagging his hand. "Please don't misread what I'm saying, Sir. We do want to be optimistic by all means, but…the possibility exists that she could go for days, months, even _years_ without regaining her memory, and when and if she does, it could be suddenly or piece by piece." He watched as a look of shock and disappointment flickered across the face of the man in front of him. "There's just so much about this particular condition that we still don't know…I wish I could tell you more, give you a few assurances, but this is what you're facing."

Dave ran a hand over his hair and then cupped the back of his neck, turning to face away from the Doctor. "How am I supposed to handle this?" he began. "I mean, what am I supposed to do for her if I can't get near her without her being afraid?"

"Well, I'm not going to lie and tell you that it's an easy approach or a simple situation, but I'm certain that once you're able to give her some of the pertinent information about her life and your marriage, then she'll be a bit more receptive to you." Chantre offered. "I can recommend a good psychiatrist if you'd like."

That wasn't a suggestion that he was even willing to contemplate. "Just let me know when I can get in there to see her."

"I had the nurse give her something to calm her down, so even if she's not sleeping, she's bound to be a little less stressed and hopefully you can talk with her in a few minutes." Dr. Chantre pulled the lid to the chart clipboard up and scribbled a few more short notes. "Perhaps you can just give her a short time to be by herself before going back in there…she's bound to appreciate it."


	9. Chapter 8

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 8

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"It is impossible to go through life without trust: That is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself."

- Graham Greene, _The Ministry of Fear_

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"You and I both know it's not a charge that's bound to stick." Nicholas Pemberton, Randy Orton's high dollar, high profile attorney reminded Sheriff Don Kinzey as he snapped open his briefcase and pulled out a small stack of papers. In less than a half-hour, he'd managed to wrangle half a dozen affidavits and sworn statements from other wrestlers, as well as a flight itinerary and some other pertinent information, showing the time constraints that would have prevented Randy from having any sort of influence or associations with the Jane Doe.

"Even if that one won't, then I'll pursue endangerment of a minor, for the woman's child." Kinzey smirked.

"That's a long shot, especially since the child is not yet born and the laws in the state of Oregon provide that the rights of an unborn child are determined by the parents, neither of whom intend to press charges against my client." Pemberton slid the stack of papers across the table toward the sheriff, as Randy, dressed in county orange looked on with hopeful diligence. "What we have here is a case of a simple accident…it is what it is, and oddly, it's the same thing it was the night it happened…an accident."

"Well there's the matter of the missing girl." Kinzey reminded him. "I was unable to question her and therefore I have no idea who in the hell she is or _was_." He stood for a moment and placed his tubby hands on the back of the chair. He looked directly at Randy who flashed him an expression of defiance. "No body no crime, huh?" The sheriff said.

"Do you have a charge with which you intend to hold my client or do you not?" Nicholas Pemberton, took his glasses off and stood again, placing both palms flat against the table.

"I've already charged the kid with reckless endangerment." Randy heard him say, and it might have even been funny if it weren't so very pathetic.

"Be that as it may, unless you have a better charge for which to hold my client, I'll exercise his right to recognizance." Nicholas announced in a no-nonsense, clipped tone as he snapped his briefcase shut.

"Do what?" Kinzey asked, slightly confused as to what he intended to exercise.

"Bail." Pemberton arched an eyebrow incredulously. "You know, bail? The money that I paid your clerk to release my client."

Kinsey was perturbed by the way the big city, hot shot lawyer was addressing him. And all that the man's attitude succeeded in doing was making Don Kinzey think of other ways to hamstring Randy Orton. "Well I suppose he's free to leave the jail, but not the county, not until the District Attorney lets me know whether he sees fit for this to go to trial."

"Sounds great." Nicholas piped up, pulling his briefcase off of the table. "I'll call Pete tonight and discuss the specifics with him." He referred to the little known friendship that he had developed during law school with Peter Donahue the district attorney of Portland.

The revelation that the two knew one another had Sheriff Kinzey fairly gritting his teeth. Was there no end to this man's resources? He kept his temper in check as he told Pemberton, calmly. "Get your punk ass client out of my jail, before I charge him with loitering."

Pemberton held in a laugh. "I'll do that. Thank you for your help, Kinzey." He then nodded to Randy. "I'll see _you_ outside." He turned on his heel, briefcase in hand and stalked through the doorway, leaving Randy with the Sheriff.

Sheriff Kinzey leaned down into the face of a dutifully handcuffed Randy Orton. "Listen here you little motherfucker." He spat. "If you have any ideas whatsoever, that this whole thing is over, then you're sickly mistaken!"

"I think we're done here, Warden…can I have my clothes back now?" Randy asked, clenching his jaw, holding onto the last sliver of his mockery.

"Watch your ass…" Kinzey shook his finger. "You just watch your ass." He then slammed the unoccupied chair beneath the table edge with a force that shook the entire table…and it made him angry when he saw that Randy didn't flinch. Unable to find the words to express his fury or to adequately threaten the wrestler, Don Kinzey opted to turn and leave the room, before he himself committed homicide.

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Freshly dressed, Randy sauntered down the front steps of the county courthouse that also doubled as a jail. A smile on his face and a spring in his step…he was ready to enjoy another couple of days off at the most, until his attorney would be able to convince the DA not to press charges and then he could leave the county and get back on the road with the WWE.

"Thanks, Nicholas." He extended his hand when he came to stand in front of his attorney. "You came through for me again, and I appreciate it."

Nicholas, sighed, and shook his head. "I'm really sorry Randy, for what you had to go through…and I hope your friend will be fine…I know Dave must just be beside himself."

"Things are gonna be fine for them, they have a great relationship and she's going to get better each day." Randy told him. "And thanks to you things are looking up for me too."

"I have something to tell you, Randy." Nicholas announced, switching his hold on the briefcase as he opened the trunk of his rental car. "I received a call from Johnny Ace this morning after he spoke with Dave Batista, who put him touch with me…and he and some of the other WWE management…" He sighed and dipped his head.

"What?" Randy tilted his head to the side as he narrowed his eyes, suspect of what he was about to hear. "What is it?"

"In light of the charges, and the arrest…the publicity that it's bringing…" He frowned as he spoke. "They've initiated your 90 day suspension from the WWE, and it's effective immediately."

"What!" He felt as if he'd been smashed in the chest with a cinder block. "They're suspending me?"

"As far as I can tell, it's only temporary, just until things get cleared up and they're willing to continue paying you while you're out, so it's not as bad as it sounds." Pemberton tried to soothe the sting of what he had just announced.

"I'm in contention for the title, Nick! I just sat down and worked an angle with Creative that puts me in line for the title…I-I'm supposed to take it next month at a major Pay-Per-View!" Randy was exasperated, as he lifted his hands and ran them fiercely through his hair. "Fuck!"

"Randy, with everything that's happened…I think that maybe this is the best thing for you, it's gonna give you the opportunity to settle down and relax…get your priorities in order." Nicholas said closing the trunk after dumping his briefcase inside.

"Wrestling is my priority!" Randy blasted. "I didn't do anything wrong, Nick…maybe you can call Johnny Ace back! I was just giving Nancy a ride…I wasn't drinking, did you tell them that?"

"Randy, I told them, but everything's complicated."

"How hard is it for them to understand that the whole thing was an accident?"

"Listen, get a motel, Randy…give me a couple of days to speak with the DA and work the kinks out and then you go home to your Mother and wait out your suspension…_behave_…because this is the second suspension that you've been under…the WWE has bent over backward for you, so just _behave_ and keep your nose clean." Nick ordered him.

"Keep my nose clean…" Randy muttered as he turned around facing away from his attorney and putting his face in his hands. He then emitted a noise befitting his frustration, something resembling a growl…he swung his foot, kicking a rock, sending it skittering across the street.

"Randy, call your Mother." The attorney told him. "She's called your buddy Dave twice since you were arrested, evidently there's a reporter somewhere in the hospital. The story of your arrest just hit the 'Wrestling 101' website."

"Shit." Now he had to deal with Lynn again, she was the veritable firewall between him and his mother and he knew he couldn't pray hard enough to hope his mother would answer the phone first.

"My card is in your wallet…Call me if anything happens regarding the sheriff." Nicholas said, leaning down and sliding into the front seat of the rented Buick. "I have to go now…I need to call Pete tonight before he leaves with his wife for the Bahamas or else you'll be stuck here for a month. Remember what I said, Randy and stay the hell out of trouble."

He shut the car door softly and left Randy standing on the courthouse steps, nostrils flaring.

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She watched him as he spoke…his voice was soft as it vibrated past his lips. Deep and fluid, almost calming. But at the same time she couldn't help but wonder about his earlier frustration. Big, he was much bigger than she had thought previously. Although she couldn't see what was beneath the shirt, she could imagine by the bulk and the outlines of the muscles through the fabric told her that he was in fantastic shape. Was he a football player, a bodybuilder? An ex-con?

"How long have we been married?" Nancy asked. He had already covered the basic ground, his name, the circumstances that led to her being in the hospital, and he'd asked her if she had questions. This was only one in a long list of questions she had for him.

He was sitting almost completely across the room from her and yet the intensity of his gaze spanned the distance and made her feel as if he were mere inches away. "Eighteen months." His statement was unembellished and to the point.

She nodded, continuing. "How long have we been together?" She had hoped that it might have been a long time at least then she would feel as if there was a lengthy history between them.

"About two and a half years." He tilted his hand back and forth and looked at the ceiling as he spoke. "We lived together for a couple of months before getting married. Worked together for awhile before we ever formally met."

She adjusted her body and cleared her throat. "Do we have other children?"

He smiled and she couldn't help but notice how nice his teeth were and how the smile softened his countenance, even as it wrinkled the corners of his eyes. It was fetching, even if she was a little uncertain about him. "This is our first together, but I have two daughters from another marriage." She watched him as he pulled out his wallet. "Vanessa and Audrey." He announced, standing up, crossing the distance to hand her the wallet.

She took in the pictures of the girls, both of whom were prettier than average, and both seemed extremely photogenic. "Do they like me?" She didn't know why it seemed like an important question, but she asked it anyhow.

"They do." He said, palming the wallet. "You have a lot in common with them both." He couldn't nearly describe the type of relationship she had with his daughters or the bond she had created…it was something that had to be experienced. "You get along well with their mother, too…so that's fortunate." He told her as he turned and seated himself once again in the chair.

"Do I know what I'm having, yet?" Somehow she couldn't say 'we' with the question. It made it seem far too intimate, and he must have caught her failure to use the pronoun, because he looked down for a split second and then back up.

"A boy." He said. Stunned, if that were even what you could term it…it had never occurred to him that she wouldn't remember the very singular reason for which she had come to see him at the arena in the first place. He was shrouded by a sadness for her that he couldn't even define. How ironic…her own surprise for _him_ and until that very innocent moment of her question…it had been a mystery to _her_…a secret robbed from her mind by a cruel twist of fate. "We just barely found out."

She smiled, even as tears were forming in the corners of her eyes. But she would not let them fall, wouldn't let him see her cry, mostly because she didn't know how he would react…would he laugh at her or would he try to hold her? She cleared her throat and continued her line of questioning.

"What do you do for a living?" She didn't so much feel as if that was important, so long as he _wasn't_ an ex-con, or some sort of Mafia Don. As much as the thought of him being a criminal was a ridiculous assumption, she still had her doubts.

"I wrestle for a major promotion." He told her. "That's how we met."

She arched an eyebrow. "I wrestle too?" she was starting to wonder how genuine the man actually was.

"No, not exactly." A soft laugh followed his statement. "We met, because you spilled coffee on someone I was seeing." His expression softened to one of fondness as he reflected on the memory.

"I see." Nancy said, determined that the story of her existence was becoming more and more far fetched by the minute. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and let her gaze travel away from him, to the other side of the room. "And the flowers?" She inquired of the table full of floral arrangements that had been coming in a steady stream all afternoon. Since flowers had been forbidden in the ICU so as to prevent allergies in more sensitive patients, the arrangements had been held back by the hospital, until now.

"Quite a few flowers, huh?" He smiled again, as he stood, walking the length of the room and lifting a random card from one of the arrangements. "These are from, The McMahon family, Linda and Vince…he owns the WWE, the promotion I wrestle for." He plucked another card from the grouping of plants. "This is from Randy Orton…" She noticed that his expression darkened and his brow creased. It sent her to wondering why he reacted that way. "He, uh…he's my friend, fellow wrestler and the one you were riding to the airport with when you had the wreck."

He tossed the card aside and picked another. "This one's from Angie, my ex-wife…another from Lydia, my sister. Roses from my mother…" He poked through the maze of flowers for more cards. "This is from Stephanie McMahon-Levesque." He said the last name without inflection. "You've been designing several lines for her since we met. This big one is from…Max." He grinned and flipped the card over so she could see it. "He's your best friend and business partner."

"Business partner?" Nancy asked, she hadn't considered the possibility that she had a job.

"The two of you used to run the wardrobe department of Raw…you have your own business now and you design and sew clothing for quite a few people and companies. I couldn't remember all of your clients if you paid me." He told her, seating himself again. "You're very good at what you do."

Something about receiving a compliment from him warmed her on the inside and yet she still felt a twinge of doubt. She pointed toward the flowers. "My family?"

He tilted back in his chair as if he were trying to think of something and then he leaned forward staring at the floor. He wished that he could avoid that question altogether…how could he tell her all of the disturbing things about her family and possibly get her to look past it, work past it?

"Well, your father…" He paused and let out a puff of air. "Your father passed away when you were very young, four or five." He felt bad when she bit her lip. "And you and your mother…" He wondered if there were a delicate way to tell her that her mother was an addict and alcoholic whom she'd hidden from for her entire adult life. "The two of you are estranged and have been for better than ten years." The rest of her sordid past he would leave out. It was too much for anyone person to take in, to comprehend in one sitting.

She shook her head and stared at the ceiling. "This just gets better and better doesn't it?" It was implausible! It was like being spoon-fed someone else's bad fortune. Was she truly in this bed because of an accident or was she in here because of something he had done? How in the world could half of what he was saying be true? Why else would she be hiding a key? Had she been running from him? How was she supposed to trust him when there was no one else there to ask about her past?

He looked hurt, when she spoke, making the smart remark, but the expression of grief changed as quickly as it had appeared. "I wouldn't lie to you about your life, Nancy" He said plainly. "It's my life too."

"I don't know why, but everything you're telling me just sounds really mind-boggling." She groaned and placed her hands over her face, then winced and removed them when she felt the laceration throb beneath the bandage. "Half of it sounds like a B-rated movie."

He couldn't have effectively conveyed the extent to which his heart was breaking, at the thought that she suddenly didn't trust him. And it was more than just what she had said. It was how she behaved…as if he'd done something wrong and been judged for it without knowing the offense...as if she'd already formed her own opinion of him and not yet allowed him the advantage of knowing what her opinion was. He stood and made his way over to the side of the bed. "Maybe you could cut me some slack…" He suggested softly. "And give me the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I don't have an ulterior motive…maybe…I'm not a bad guy." His smile was crooked, but attractive, as he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. She stiffened when his lips met her flesh and he frowned.

"And maybe you could cut me some slack…" She countered, just as softly. "And give me the benefit of the doubt, because I can't remember whether or not you're a bad guy."

Dave smiled, when on the inside he was utterly deflated. "I'm gonna go make our flight arrangements, so we can go home. I can't wait to get out of here."

"Home?" She felt a tremor of disquiet course through her, at the intimate implication of a home that they had built together…a place they had lived together, slept together…dear Lord, she hadn't even remembered that. But then again they must have, or she wouldn't be…oh hell! There went her mind trailing through the gutter, when it wasn't even an aspect of her unfamiliar marriage that she was even contemplating. Unless of course it wasn't his child…after all she had been riding in a car with another man when she'd had the wreck. Maybe her husband knew she was having an affair and he was just waiting until he got her home and then he could confront her about it.

She swallowed, hard…she hadn't even considered all the possibilities and there was so damn much she didn't know…and home? How was she supposed to know how things operated around there? It was too much! Her cluttered mind scrambled for an alternative solution…maybe they could just let her stay in the hospital, perhaps they could rent out a room to her until she could remember something, anything! How was she supposed to be alone with this man when she had no idea whether or not it was safe, whether or not _he_ was safe?

"Um, hmm." He nodded. "I signed your dismissal paperwork earlier while you were asleep…they don't usually like for pregnant patients to fly, but the doctor thinks that the drive back to Seattle would be more risky than the one hour flight. So I'll try to get a red-eye flight…and we'll be back home tonight."

"Tonight?" She asked, her voice making it apparent that she was uneasy. "Shouldn't I wait…I-I mean I don't remember anything yet, don't they want me to wait?"

"Are you afraid to go home with me?" He joked. Maybe she was…she certainly had a look on her face that indicated that she was uncomfortable with the thought of him. He stood there at the foot of her bed wishing she would be honest with him and yet hoping that she would say that she wasn't troubled.

She shook her head, but truly she was nervous and worried. "No." She lied.

"Good." He told her. She was lying…he could tell, because he knew her…even if she didn't know herself. "I'll be back in a little while." He smiled and exited the room like a gentleman, praying silently that she would be struck with her memory while he was on the phone with the airline so that they could get back to normal before all hell broke loose.

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She watched him on the stool in the dilapidated corner bar and it was almost impossible for her not to smile as she did so. From behind she could see that his body was barely perched on the wooden stool. One side of his behind was seated on the stool while the other was off and one of his long legs, seemed to be holding the entire weight of his frame, while the other was hitched up in the crossbar of the stool.

He swirled the amber liquid around in the glass and then with a wobbly manner, he leaned forward and tried to fit his face into the glass in an attempt to chase down the last cube of ice. It only succeeded in sending the last half ounce of his drink onto the front of his deep blue polo.

She watched as he lifted the glass in silence, nodding and the bartender poured him yet another drink. Barren hadn't suspected she would even be seeing him again, but after her failed attempt to get the key, only minutes earlier, she had found herself in a rush to track him down. Her pregnant scapegoat had been released from the hospital, mere minutes before she'd shown up…and Barren was quite sure that the woman had found the key hidden under her body. Now that she was gone and the key with her, Barren knew that the only hope of getting it back was in her ability to befriend the friend of the woman with her key. And so therefore, if they were having an affair, as the nurses had rumored, then surely he would know how to get in touch with her…getting in good with Randy Orton was her best chance to retrieve her key.

And so here she had tracked him down, on Christmas Eve, finding herself once again in the presence of a man she found disturbingly handsome and intriguing. But he sure as hell wasn't intriguing right now…he was three sheets to the wind, chasing another ice cube in the glass.

She built her up her courage and crossed the distance of the biker bar to where he sat on the stool, coming to a halt beside him. He tilted his head to the side, slowly and his eyes lit up with recognition when he saw her. "Hmmph." He made a near unintelligible noise, and nodded his head, lifting his glass in her direction. "You'll forglive me if my manners aren't up to parrrr." He began, a slur lacing his words. "I don't like you very much right now."

Barren nearly laughed out loud. "An honest man…imagine my surprise."

"Ha!" Randy barked, followed by a snort of a laugh. "You're the one who likes to surprise people." He grinned through a hooded expression, tilting the glass as he gestured. "You should have seen the look on the face of that nurse, when she realized you were _gone_…now _that_ was a surprise…a huge shlock!" He signaled with his hand, sending some more of the whiskey sloshing over the rim.

"You mean 'shock'" Barren corrected him.

"Yep…that's what I mean." He nodded wobbling on the stool. "But as I said before…I don't like you right now, and _soooo_, you should _plobably_ just keep your distance." He slurred as he very gently touched the center of her chest with two fingers and slowly pushed her one step backward.

"I _do_ owe you an apology." Barren began.

"Nope, nope…no, unh, uh…you owe me one courtesy only and that is to walk on." He shook his head pointing one unsteady hand toward the door and then grinned. "Because _you_…are trouble."

Barren wanted to laugh, wanted to reach out and touch the stubble that covered the adorable cleft in his chin. "Why am I trouble?"

"I can tell you why." Randy garbled. "Every single, solitary, time I come into contact with you, Jane Doe…May I call you Jane?" He said emphasizing each word with an unnecessary thump of his knuckles on the bar. "What was I saying?" He asked, losing track of his point.

"I'm trouble…" Barren prompted.

"Right, right…that you are." Randy repeated. "And every time I get within a hundred feet of you…something bad happens." He reached one long masculine finger outward and lightly tapped the tip of her nose once as if she were a precocious child. "Are you cursed, _Jane_?" He laced her fake name with derision, as he gave her a despondent look.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wondered about that one myself." She admitted.

"Well, whatever you are…I can say for sure you are trouble." Randy nodded, having appraised her accurately, the movement of his head making him look somewhat like a bobble-head doll. "So unless your willing to rectumfy your error…then you should just stay far, _far_ away from me…because I don't like you right now."

"Rectify." She corrected, holding in the giggle that threatened to burst forth. "Maybe you shouldn't indulge in your liquor so much, considering the fact that the sheriff already has it out for you."

Randy scowled and then tipping his glass, he garbled. "Advice duly noted…and discarded." He snorted a laugh. "For the layperson, that means 'In one ear and out the other'" he motioned with his hands like an airplane in front of her face.

"You don't say?" Barren remarked, looking over her shoulder. The sight of the sheriff and one of his deputies shaking hands with a man at the pool table, caused Barren to bolt into action. They'd not been spotted yet, but a man of Randy's size would be hard to miss once the sheriff and his deputy got completely into the bar. "Here's some advice that needs to stick, Randy…" She whispered in his ear, even as he was trying to lean away. "Over your right shoulder is the sheriff who I am _sure_ is just digging for an excuse to arrest you again…so if I were you, I'd go with me right now."

"But you ain't me." Randy informed, sliding the empty glass forward and standing to tug on his jacket. "And I already told you…I want, absolutely, positively—"

Barren clamped onto his hand and dragged him toward the back hall, despite his verbal protest. "Get moving."

Randy let her lead him past the bathrooms to a door, that when opened, led to the bar's kitchen. The smell of food hit him and he reached out to satisfy a craving, tugging a handful of corn chips from an already completed order on the pass-bar.

"Damn, these are good." He crunched away happily as Barren led him through the kitchen and out into the alley behind the bar. Once outside, he blanched when the cool wind blew across his face, and having finished the chips in short order, he began to dig in his pockets for the keys to his rental car.

"They're right here." Barren said, holding his keychain up for him to see.

Randy frowned, weaving on his long legs. "Not only is she a Houdini…she's a theefth, too." He stuttered as he patted his pants to verify that she hadn't swiped his wallet, and then after confirming it was still nestled in his pocket, he reached forward. "I'll take those keys."

"Sorry, Randy…friends don't let friends drive drunk." Barren announced, with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders, but I will drive you back to your hotel and you can be drunk in the safety of your room."

"We…are _not_ friends…" Randy weaved and tried to grasp the keys, which she swiped out of his reach. The action caused him to stumble forward and fall. "Damn, there goes another pair of pants." He laughed out loud when he stood and saw the gash in the knee of his pants.

"Randy, please get in the car." Barren pleaded. "I'll drive you back and then I'll never bug you again, I promise."

"Never? Ever?" He asked wagging a finger at her.

"Cross my heart." Barren arched one elegant brow.

"Fine." He submitted and slid into the passenger seat of the car.

Barren cranked up the engine and buckled her seatbelt, and then she could clearly see that Randy was having more than his share of trouble with his own seatbelt.

"Here, let me help you." She said and her hand grazed his as she leaned in to buckle the strap. She could feel the warmth of him as it crossed the inches between them and she looked upward. He was staring at her, intently through drunken eyes.

"You smell nice." He whispered.

"Thanks." She said, thinking that aside from the slight smell of whiskey on his shirt and breath, he sure smelled nice as well.

"Room 110, at the Hood River Inn, _Jane_." Randy said followed by a loud hoot.

"My name's not Jane." Barren admitted, knowing he already knew.

"No way!" He waved a hand, feigning disbelief. "You mean…you've been lying to me all this time?"

"Yep." She smiled. "Lying the whole time…to _everyone_."

"I'll bet…" He began, as the car wound through the hills. "…That those bruises weren't just from my car."

He grazed the side of her face with a gentle hand, and it caught her off guard. She suddenly felt very self conscious…very ugly…she remembered looking in the mirror just shortly after leaving the hospital and noting the bruises.

"Not a big deal." Barren said.

"So what _isss_ your name?" Randy asked, his eyelids drooping hopelessly. "I'd love to know who in the world I ran over."

"Barren." She told him.

"That's a lovely name…" He said, and then burst out laughing. "Sorry, I just have a bad habit of being sarcastic." He saw her grin as she pulled into the parking space at the tiny roadside motel.

"Come on, Randy…let's get you in bed."

He fought until the seatbelt came undone and then attempted to extract himself from the passenger seat. He found himself hung up on the shoulder belt and it yanked him back into the car. He cackled wildly and then Barren joined in the laughter.

"Let me help you again." She tugged the belt away from his shoulder and then helped him stand on legs that had become more wobbly than before.

"If you think I'm going to have sex with you…you're wrong." He told her and then sputtered a laugh as he hung onto her shoulder, letting her help him to the door. "Cuz, I'm not that kind of guy…I'm worse."

A laughed bubbled up from Barren's throat. "Why do I believe that about you?" She slid his room key in the door and then with a grunt she shoved the stubborn door open.

"Because it's the troofth." He pointed out, wagging a finger, mere inches from her nose.

Barren led him to the edge of the bed and then with the fingers of one hand, she pushed ever so softly in the center of his chest and he fell backward on the bed like a ton of bricks. "Give me your leg." She ordered and then pulled his shoe off tossing it across the room, followed by the other. Barren leaned over the handsome wrestler and finally managed to peel his jacket off, after struggling for a time amidst his laughter.

He reached up and placed his arm over her lower back. "Why are you here, Barren?" He questioned softly, but before she could answer, he continued. "Why were you on the road that night, all beat up and half naked?" He stared into her eyes as she looked down on him contemplating his questions.

"I'll tell you all about it, in the morning when you're sober." Barren said, disturbed by the fact that she sensed a tremor of pleasure in the feel of his hand on her back.

"Well, then I'll never know the truth." He slurred. "Because I'm never planning on being sober again." The other hand came up between them to touch her lips.

"I should probably spend the night on your floor and _not_ your bed." She laughed, trying to ignore the obvious attraction that she shouldn't be feeling for him.

"Yep, get out of my bed." He ordered, laughing and mangling his attempt at grammar. "Your reputation would _never_ recover from a night in my bed…and besides…I don't…"

"Yeah, yeah…I know…You don't like me right now." Barren said smiling.

Randy snickered. "You got it, Babe." He pointed and then winked, nearly cross-eyed in his drunkenness.

Barren tugged the covers over her newfound friend and leaned down to kiss his forehead. She didn't know why…it just seemed like the thing to do. "Goodnight Randy…Randy Orton."

He closed his eyes and spread his arms above him on the pillow in inebriated bliss. "Goodnight, Barren…Barren Doe."

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The last of the arrangements had been made and the darkened Christmas Eve sky signaled that he was that much closer to the satisfaction of taking his wife and unborn son home. But no matter how much he was looking forward to it, his wife wasn't sharing in the joy. He pocketed the card on which he'd written the ticket-less confirmation and headed back down the hall, only to be stopped in mid-stride by the night nurse.

"Sir, I almost forgot." She announced breathlessly. "Sorry I was running." She laughed.

"That's okay, catch your breath." He told her.

"This was what the paramedics bagged up…these are your wife's clothes." She held up a plastic bag. "And they locked up her purse and her wedding ring in the safe…here they are." She thrust the belongings toward him.

"Oh, wow." He laughed. "I almost forgot…thank you." Nodding, he tucked the package under his arm, hooked the tiny leather purse over his forearm, which garnered a laugh from the nurse and then he held the ring up between two fingers…he couldn't wait to put it back on her finger, but he wasn't sure she would be as eager for it.

"Take care." The nurse said and headed off in the opposite direction.

Dave Batista stood outside of his wife's room, glad he had chosen to buy her an outfit to wear home. The doctors had offered scrubs, but somehow he'd known with her fashion sense, that she would never have gone for it. And how hilarious was it that in her state…she couldn't even remember that she had fashion sense.

He wondered if the maternity shirt she had made and worn in the wreck was damaged beyond repair. Peeling back the tape on the bag, he tugged the shirt out and let the bag fall when he caught sight of the droplets of blood spattered across the wrinkled garment. But it was the huge blood covered handprint in the center of the shirt, where her stomach would have been that stopped him cold. Fury vibrated through him at the sudden realization that the handprint was far too large and oddly placed to be hers.

He clenched his jaw as he could imagine in his mind, his wife lying on the highway, her head in Randy Orton's lap as she nearly bled to death with his hand pressed against her belly to confirm whether _his_ child lived. The entire weight of it pressed heavily on him and he detested the mere thought of it, when the only thing in the world he wanted right now was to be at home in his bed with his wife's head in his lap and his hand on her stomach feeling his child move, the way he had countless nights prior. But that wasn't going to happen tonight, maybe not even for innumerable nights in the future. He might be able to remember how much he loved her, but she couldn't and that simple fact was helping her construct a wall…and her obvious mistrust was helping her to shut him out, brick by brick.

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	10. Chapter 9

**Uncommon Bond**

Chapter 9

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered."

- Nelson Mandela, _A Long Walk To Freedom_

South African Civil Rights Leader.

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It was almost midnight as they traversed the concourse through Seattle/Tacoma, International Airport. The plane had only minutes before landed and the pair had come through a near deserted gate, Nancy with her face down so as to hide the bruises. They passed through the concourse, and then as they approached the baggage claim, Nancy glanced absently at a magazine stand that had shut down for the night. Behind the closed metal gate, she caught sight of a face, on the cover of a magazine that drew her attention.

"That's _you_…" She said, her voice burnished with an air of shock. Nancy stopped and walked closer to the stand. Leaning forward, she peeked through the metal gate and then pointed to the cover of the _Wrestling Observer Magazine_.

Dave stopped to see what she was staring at and then when he saw his face on the publication, he shrugged and teased. "That's a great picture…I almost forgot how good-looking I am."

Nancy smiled and a soft laugh escaped, despite her exhaustion.

"Wow." Dave said, grinning. "Did you just smile? And I sure didn't think I would _ever_ get a laugh out of you."

"Well, maybe that's because this was your first decent attempt at humor all day." She countered and proceeded ahead of him toward the baggage claim area…followed by the rumble of his laughter.

The carousel was spinning slowly and she stood next to It, as if she had some idea of what sort of bag she might be looking for, but she didn't have some idea of what her bag looked like and so she felt out of place…just standing.

"Babe, you didn't have a bag." She heard him say as he reached out to lift two large rolling suitcases off of the carousel. "You were only supposed to have been in Portland for one evening."

"Oh." She nodded and then followed along behind him, past rows and rows of empty chairs and a line of luggage carts sheathed obediently one inside of another, waiting for tomorrow's rash of passengers. A man wielding a floor buffing machine, nodded his head in acknowledgement as he saw them pass, and Nancy saw an attractive, lone stewardess glance their way, grin at her husband, and then the woman continued down the empty airport passageway, past them and out through the door in front of them. The tiniest pulse of an emotion rippled inside of her and Nancy refused to believe it might have been jealousy over the suggestive smile that the young woman had given. He was a good-looking man…it was probably commonplace for him to be gawked at by other women. Besides, why should she care? Until she was sure he wasn't some kind of weirdo, the _last_ thing she was interested in was asserting her position as his wife.

The automatic doors that led to the indoor parking garage, swept open, letting a cold blast of wind in through them, blowing back Nancy's hair and causing a dull throb in the wound on her forehead. "I'm really glad you left the truck here." He murmured, a sigh of exhaustion passing like a hiss between his lips. He hadn't made the comment to her in particular, so much as saying it absently, she supposed and she wrapped the sweater around her shoulders tighter and followed him through the mezzanine and into the indoor garage. The sound of their feet and the wheels of his luggage on the cold concrete were the only noises in the garage and she felt an overwhelming sense of awkwardness at the situation as a whole. "We don't live more than a half hour away from here in heavy traffic, so since it's dead out, it won't take us very long."

Nancy nodded, and continued to follow down the row of empty cars to the very end where a large, silver Lincoln Navigator waited patiently. She held her purse and stood by until he reminded her that she had the keys in her purse. "Oh, sorry." Nancy stammered, digging through the tiny, well organized handbag until she found the keychain. She lifted it out and began to press a few random buttons, in an attempt to disengage the locks, but she only succeeded in tripping the alarm and causing the siren to blare. The indoor garage was suddenly filled with the earsplitting wail of the loud alarm, and she could feel her cheeks grow hotter as she began to press the buttons wildly, searching for the one that would make the racket cease.

Dave was fighting back a laugh, as he pushed his suitcases against the back bumper of the truck and reached over, gently grasping her hand even as she still held the key, he pushed one button twice and the cursed clamor halted. He felt her slide her hands out of his and watched as the keychain fell to the concrete, at which point he scooped the keys up as if she hadn't pulled away. He kept his expression composed pretending her rebuff hadn't hurt his feelings, and then he popped the locks and lifted the back hatch of the truck to load his suitcases inside.

"Sorry." She murmured in embarrassment. "I didn't know which one to push."

"You'll get used to it…" He said, forcing a smile past his disappointment. "Audrey sets that thing off on purpose, at least once a week."

She watched as he pushed the hatch down and then she made her way to the passenger side of the truck, feeling extremely uncomfortable. How was this supposed to work when she had such a war of emotions? On the one hand, she believed he might be sincere and kind, but yet on the other, she couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension where he was concerned. It brought her attention back to the key around her neck, concealed beneath her shirt…the key she'd been hiding and fiercely guarding since she'd woken up. When she'd taken the time to shower at the hospital, she'd even politely declined the nurses who'd wanted to help her, just so she could keep the key a secret. Not knowing why in the world she was in possession of it in the first place was bothering her, but what disturbed her more were the thoughts of what _he_ might say if he knew she had been hiding something from him to begin with.

Nancy had no sooner grasped the door latch and pulled it open, when she felt the gentle pressure of a hand on her lower back.

"Careful." She heard him say, as she went to climb inside of the large vehicle.

"I'm okay." Was her response as she edged inside, away from the unsettling warmth of his hand.

Dave Batista waited until his wife was completely inside before he closed the passenger door and then rounded the back of the truck. He let out a heavy groan of frustration and then pursed his lip together, as he palmed the keys. His silent prayer was that something good would come out of her loss of memory, or that God would have mercy on his marriage and let her lapse of memory be short lived.

Nothing bothered him more than the fact that his very own wife didn't seem to want his help, or his touch…even the most innocent contact, things he'd always done seemed to put her off balance. It was almost as if she expected to be electrocuted every time his hand brushed her flesh. She was scooting away however subtly, when he was near her in the elevator as they left the hospital…on the plane she had faced the window for nearly the entire one hour flight and not spoken more than a word or two until landing. She'd half jumped out of her skin when he touched her arm to help her out into the aisle of the plane, and when his hand grazed against her fingers when she reached for her purse, she'd pulled them back as if she'd been burned.

It was maddening. And on top of making him feel utterly helpless where her needs were concerned, it was also serving to irritate the living hell out of him. In his frustration he nearly jerked the driver door open and then he saw that she whipped her head around, looking somewhat surprised, at the force with which he opened it. It dawned on him that no matter how frustrated and irritated _he_ was with the issue, he had to be calm and rational in his dealings with her or he would push her away altogether. He slid the keys into the ignition and the truck rumbled to life.

"Cold?" he asked her, preparing to set the heater. Dave saw her nod as she buckled the seatbelt, sliding it down low. A grimace crossed her face and she bit her lip when she was forced to adjust the shoulder belt and then he was reminded of the savage bruises on her collar bone and hips from the seatbelt in Randy's car. Randy's car—he felt the anger bubble up again, but he quashed it and backed out of the garage in the direction of home.

Nancy stared out of the passenger window at the lights of the Seattle skyline, impressed with how beautiful the city could be at night. Keeping her eyes facing out of the window also served to prevent her husband from thinking she might wish to converse, but it failed on the secondary purpose. She heard him ask her if she wanted to listen to the radio and instead of gifting him with a verbal response, she shook her head. Then deciding that she was being ruder than she ought, Nancy turned and finally told him. "I would, but I can't remember what kind of music I like."

Something in the way his lips curved into a smile caused her to let the smallest segment of her guard down and she reached forward for the radio knob. He was reaching at the same time and their hands suddenly collided. She laughed and then pulled back…he pulled back…then neither of them were able to tell the other's next move and they both reached for it again…hands colliding in midair once more. This time it was his turn to laugh…she found it was soft and pleasant…the sound of it tickled her insides.

"You pick." He told her.

"What do I like?" She asked, watching his profile in the dimly lit cab.

"You like jazz and blues, mostly…" He told her, casting a quick glance before he turned back to look at the road again. "But you've been known to listen to a little of everything."

She reached out hesitantly for the knob again and pushed it in causing the row of buttons to light up as the radio came on. A CD must have been the very last thing she had been listening to, for the sounds of a jazz artist came flooding into the truck.

"Good 'Ole Harry." Dave remarked. "You have a thing for him…and I think that if you'd met him first, then you wouldn't have given me the time of day." She was fairly sure he was only teasing, but she turned to face him and bit her lip.

"Harry?" She asked timidly. Who in the hell was Harry? And why would her husband possibly make a remark like that, especially in light of what may or may not have been going on between her and the fellow she had wrecked with?

"Harry Connick, Jr." He reached forward and tapped the tuner indicating that Harry was the name of the artist. "You've always liked him. You've loved his music since before you and I ever met." He couldn't help but wonder why she had appeared so shocked when he had teased her. What in the world had she been thinking he was referring to?

"Oh." Nancy breathed, somewhat relieved but secretly embarrassed. She had almost begun to think that she was having an affair with a man named Harry. It was bad enough waking up with no memory, in a strange hospital, to a rash of rumors, even some she'd overheard from the nurses while she was in the shower…but not knowing if she had _truly_ been unfaithful was disturbing at the least. She listened to the song, enjoying the melody and then miraculously, she could anticipate the next verse prior to it playing. _'That's the recipe for makin' love…' _ She knew the words! She sat straight forward in the seat. "I know this song." She announced…but sadly nothing else was familiar.

The tiny ember of hope that had sparked at her announcement of the recollection of the song, flared up, but it was doused as soon as she told him that the chorus of the song was all she could remember. The doctor had explained how she might remember small things…certain things might seem familiar, while others remained elusive and distant. Dave had hoped that _he_ would end up being one of the things that fell on the side of familiar, but instead it was her passion for Harry Connick, Jr. that won out…well he could take a backseat to 'Ole Harry, he supposed, so long as he didn't find himself left in the backseat forever.

The only source of noise, being the jazz music, continued for a few more miles until he exited the freeway and drove past a row of antique shops, cafés, small-town dry cleaners and then down a back lane where his townhouse stood tall and proud. Dave pulled up into the driveway and then inside of the garage after the door finally made its ascent. He noticed that the garage was still impossibly neat and that his Ferrari remained quietly in the space next to where he now parked the truck. The poor Ferrari was reminiscent of how his heart felt…waiting patiently in an impossibly spotless shell for someone to heal the neglect; undeniably lonely in the process.

He shut the truck off and slid out, leaving the bags for later. Instead he unlocked the inner door of the house and disengaged the security system. The entry of the code was followed by three successive chirps letting him know that he had disarmed the system and then he flipped on the light in the back entry hall, just behind where the kitchen was located. Dave watched Nancy stand, rooted to the spot next to the passenger side of the truck. The look on her face was one of hesitation, as she bit the left side of her bottom lip and tucked a curl behind her ear. "The garage might be cold tonight, but I can always drag an extra blanket out here if you want."

Nancy laughed nervously at his joke and then walked past him into the house, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. The lights came on in the room without anyone having to touch a switch. It was just one of the perks of the expensive system that he'd had placed in the home.

"Hungry? Thirsty?" He asked her, as he cleared his throat. "Why was it all of a sudden so hard for him to think of something to say to her? And to see her just standing there, uneasily, as if she were in someone else's home tore at his heartstrings, when any other time, she would have been digging in the refrigerator for the leftovers of what he had cooked, while chattering away about what had happened while he had been gone.

She shook her head. "Just tired." Was her response, and then finally after she stood there for another long moment, it occurred to him that he would have to show her where their bedroom was. And now suddenly he was feeling as awkward as he had the very first night he had found himself alone with her…he could remember thinking that it was like a first date…and in a certain sense, that was what this was…in her mind anyhow.

"Up the stairs…" He pointed and walked a few steps ahead of her. "It's the last room at the very end of the hall. Did you need some help?" He didn't quite know how to offer…when she seemed so jumpy, but then not offering might have seemed calloused and so he had.

"No, I'm good." She said softly, secretly wondering if he planned on following her up there. "Thanks, though."

He could see the relief on her face when he announced that despite the late hour, he planned to do a few things before turning in. "It's already Christmas Day…" he said checking his watch…1:06 a.m. "I have another present to wrap." He told her and then he watched her walk carefully up the staircase past him and then under his breath, he said. "Merry Christmas."

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He might not have woken up for hours yet, if not for the loud creak of the wall heater kicking on in the motel-room. Randy Orton, lying on his stomach, lifted his head despite the feel of it being attached to a pulley with weights and opened one eye, catching only the dull view of an old wooden headboard. Where was he? He jerked in his attempt to roll over, and cursed when the action tipped his equilibrium and sent his head spinning. He righted himself and pushed the covers to the end of the bed, swinging one leg over the side.

"Oh, God." He groaned at the tempo of his blood rushing into his ears and he felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth when he swallowed. One hand on his forehead and the other on the mattress, he pushed his lean body up attempting to walk to the bathroom.

The sheets he thought he had rid himself of were as stubborn as Randy himself and when he took his first step, they clung hopelessly to one ankle. It forced him to hop on one leg, furiously shaking the other to extract it from the linens that knotted tighter, with each frenzied movement. The sheet wasn't letting go and Randy whipped his leg madly, while trying to stay balanced, but all the action landed him was in a heap on the floor. His tall frame buckled and he fell gracelessly, landing first on his knees and then on his chest, with his hands barely preventing a nasty face-plant. He grunted, when he landed and then in true temperamental fashion he was prepared for a fight. "Sonuva bitch!" he hissed and turned over swiftly, angrily; his hair in bad need of a trim, falling over his brows and into his eyes. He whipped the curtain of bangs away and then ripped and tugged frantically at the sheet, until he felt it come undone.

Before he could register anything that was happening, the alarm on the nightstand began to sound in an explosive blare and he was forced to crawl on his knees to shut it off. Someone, possibly the maid, more likely himself, had evidently tracked a burr into the room, transferring from their shoe to the thick carpet and Randy's knee found it. The thorny burr went deep into the skin over his kneecap, causing him to howl and dip forward out of reaction, rug-burning the other knee and one elbow and then knocking the top of his head against the nightstand drawer. The alarm continued to whine mercilessly and Randy rose up on one arm and skimmed his hand feverishly across the surface of the stand, tipping the lamp into the floor off of one side and sending the alarm clock off of the other in the process. He sighed in near delight when the alarm finally stopped, but then he groaned again when he saw the time on the digital read out that told him he could have slept another hour at least. He reached up onto the stand again feeling for his watch to confirm the time, and after a frenetic swipe of his hand, the watch came flying forward, off of the stand and painfully into the center of his forehead.

Randy stood to his feet, plucking the burr from his knee and then as a last measure of indignation he kicked the piled up sheet, inadvertently causing it to whip upward, and to fly partway over his head trapping him like a salmon in a net. He growled and then tore it down off of his head, wadding it up and tossing it hard against the wall. The sudden realization of what his grown up temper-fit might have looked like, caused him to laugh. First a tiny snicker and then a much fuller, longer laugh, finally followed by a sigh and a shake of his head. But when he heard someone else begin to laugh from behind him, he jumped, visibly startled and spun around, laying eyes on the battered beauty seated at the table in the corner. He was first merely confused and then he instantly recalled where _he_ was, who _she_ was…and that he _was_…in his underwear with his hair standing on end…something that he hadn't been last night when he'd fallen into bed.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He croaked, scowling fiercely.

"I brought you some coffee." Barren told him, trying to suppress the smile that tugged gently at the corners of her full lips. "I thought you might be feeling a little…rough…when you got up this morning."

He wrestled his jeans from the pile of tangled clothing on the floor and balled them up in front of his loins. "I thought I got rid of you last night!" Randy snapped, scanning the floor for his shirt.

"Well, I felt like maybe I should stay and make sure you were alright." Barren explained, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I remember begging you to stay _away_!" He huffed incredulously.

Barren rolled her eyes. "How about a little gratitude? Maybe you could start by telling me…oh, I don't know…_thanks_, maybe." She said, pursing her lips as she frowned. "How about, '_Thanks Barren for not letting me drive under the influence'_, or you could try saying, _'Nice job, Barren, for saving me from the Sheriff.'_"

Despite the slight frown on her face and her arms crossed rebelliously over her chest, he detected the undercurrent of humor in her tone and it irked him immensely.

"_Saving_ me?" He repeated as if he'd never heard anything as foolish. "Shit! You could be the death of me!" He shoved one leg into his jeans and fought to get it in completely. "The least you could do is keep your promise and tell me why you went on a naked hike landing yourself in the middle of the road, in front of my car!" The more Randy tugged, the more the pants resisted.

"Maybe I should wait until you're in a better mood…it's sort of complicated." Barren told him lifting the rim of the cup to her lips as she watched his futile battle with the garment.

He huffed again angrily. "Oh sure…" His sarcasm was fierce. "You have no idea what complicated is!" He ripped his shirt halfway over his shoulders, where it stuck and refused to comply, grunting and groaning and then giving up on the pants.

"I'm sorry if I made things a little harder for you—" Barren began to explain.

"A _little_ hard?" Randy scoffed. "Because of you, I have no _car_ left, I have no _job_…for 89 more days anyway, I spent the afternoon in a county jail cell that smells like an unwashed jock-strap, not that I know for sure what that smells like…and to top it off…I'm stuck here in a motel in _Hood Ornament, Oregon_…when I could be riding a palomino around my father's ranch in Missouri, while waiting for a brisket to cook!"

"Hood River." She corrected. "We're in _Hood River, Oregon_…not hood ornament."

"Whatever!" He blurted, shaking his head, tugging helplessly at his clothing, but to no avail. "I can't leave the county because of _you_ and your disappearing act…and I can't get my fucking pants on!" He hollered as he stomped, and backed away from her toward the bathroom. Still ranting, and backing toward the bathroom door, he ignored Barren's warning to beware of the hot coffee in the cups on the table, just inches from his hip.

"Randy, that coffee—" Barren grimaced when Randy backed directly into the table, knocking the cups over and sending a wave of the hot beverage cascading across the short distance of the table and down his backside, soaking his underwear and scalding his ass. He roared and jumped, spinning around and wiping frantically at his lower back.

As funny as it was, Barren dared not laugh…she knew the coffee had been hot and probably hurt like hell, but she made no move to help for fear she would lose her composure and double over in laughter.

He frowned and calmed down long enough to point directly at her. "I'm going in there to take a shower, and when I get out, you better be gone." He told her and then he snatched up his wallet, watch and keys for fear she would swipe them. He darted into the bathroom with his shirt still only half on and his pants unbuttoned and hanging halfway down his wet rump, and slammed the door with a measure of force behind him.

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Snow was falling outside in a straight soft sheet. Not a stitch of wind blew and the entire neighborhood seemed to be asleep still. Dave stood leaning against the frame of the wall of windows in his master bedroom, a glorious view of Puget Sound before him and the darkened snowy sky above, matching his mood.

She was still asleep even though it was past 9:00 a.m., but he wasn't in a rush to wake her even if it was Christmas Morning, being as he'd already cancelled dinner at Angie's opting to have her drop his girls off afterward so that they could open gifts. It was his concern for how out of place Nancy might feel during the meal that helped him come to the decision to stay home. He sipped his coffee, alternating his view between the 'Sound' and his wife, burrowed deeply under the covers. She certainly didn't look any differently while she slept. He might have even been able to be persuaded that the events of the past three days had been a bad dream, just by looking at her sleeping peacefully, but he knew better.

He left the bedroom, shirtless, heading downstairs to rid himself of the empty coffee cup and to find something on television of interest.

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Thank God he was gone…Nancy opened one eye again, after he'd exited the room and after confirming his absence, she pushed back the thick coverlet and padded quietly across the floor to the bathroom. The thought that her very full bladder might explode had crossed her mind, while she had watched him stand there staring out of the window. She'd needed to go to the bathroom badly but hadn't wanted to have any sort of dealings with him this early, or heaven forbid, give him the idea that he was welcome in there while she went.

Not only that, but she was in dire need of a place to hide the key…she had pulled it off and slid it under her hip when she'd gone to bed, just in case he might be suspicious of her and go looking for it. And not only had it poked her continuously for the entire night, it had prevented her from gaining any measure of quality sleep. After dressing, Nancy began to randomly open drawers looking for a suitable place to hide the key, which was now nestled tightly in her palm. She appeared to have more than her share of grooming implements, unless of course, some of the hundreds of doo-dads and appliances belonged to her stepdaughters. Each drawer, though well organized, was filled to the brim with every gadget on the planet that a woman or teenager could possibly need and then some.

Under the cabinet were the necessary cleaning supplies and Nancy shuffled through them, finally deciding that there was bound to be a better hiding place than this. That was, until she came upon a half full box of Epsom salts…a suitable temporary hiding place. She dropped the key and chain into the box and then shook it gently until she saw that the salt had shifted and covered it completely. Satisfied with the spot she'd picked, Nancy stood up and discreetly closed the cabinet door.

"Good Morning."

The deep voice behind her startled her and she shouted, turning with her hand pressed against her chest and a look of shock on her face.

"Good Morning." She responded weakly, feeling her heart rapping wildly in her chest at the mere thought of how long he had been standing there. "I wasn't snooping, I was…I thought I could..." She stuttered, embarrassed.

"Well, technically this is your house too." He told her. "And so it's not snooping."

He stood up straight after leaning against the doorframe and it gave her an unedited view of his shirtless upper half. It wasn't hard to imagine why she might have found him attractive. Tanned, toned and tattooed, he was more than an eyeful. "And if it helps you remember things quicker, then I'm all for you digging through anything you want." His smile said that he wasn't angry—amused possibly, but not angry. Nancy saw a ripple of muscles as he stepped further into the bathroom and it induced a degree of heat in the pit of her stomach. "In the meantime, if you've lost something, I could probably help you find it…and if I can't Vanessa can…she knows where everything is."

"The only thing I've lost is my memory…the rest just something I have to deal with." Nancy said, putting space between herself and him…between herself and the heat he was causing.

Dave walked up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, because he needed to. Because touching her, holding her; was something he missed whether she did or not. "You don't have to deal with it by yourself." He told her. "I'll tell you anything that you're curious about…I'll answer your questions, no matter how stupid you think they are." He would gladly do other things, too…but that had to come later since she was apparently uncomfortable being near him. "I'll be downstairs, if you need me." He kissed the top of her head and she scarcely felt herself breathe. It wasn't that he was appalling, in fact it was the exact opposite…he was far too handsome, far too enticing to be good for her. Maybe he was pretending, maybe he wasn't a great guy, maybe he was just playing along and taking advantage of her absence of knowledge.

Whatever the case was, she may not have her memory, but she damn sure felt a spark when he had stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, close and warm. A blush crept over her and she pointed to her reflection in the mirror. "You have your work cut out for you." She whispered to the reflection, and began the task of snooping through her belongings.

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He opened the bathroom door, a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water cascading down his chest and Barren felt her jaw nearly hit the floor. It wasn't that she hadn't seen him without a shirt on, because she had been the one to help him out of the constricting garments during his drunkenness. It was the sight of him all fresh and clean that had her fairly drooling.

Randy pulled the towel down from his head, after whipping it through his hair and his gaze fixed on Barren. "You were supposed to be gone by the time I was done showering." He reminded her. His expression and tone appeared a little less stressed and irritated, but still, he was clearly perturbed.

"I promised you an explanation." Barren said. "And I still owe you an apology."

"You owe me a hell of a lot more than _that_." He grumbled under his breath, and then he motioned for her to avert her eyes. "Turn around."

"Oh, sure…sorry." Barren said smiling as she turned her head.

"All the _way_." He insisted, crooking a brow.

Barren spun around, looking the other direction.

"I'm waiting…" Randy prompted impatiently.

"For what?" Barren asked, turning her head slyly, so as to catch a nice glimpse of bare skin…and nice it was, his bare derriere and broad back made her nearly bite through her own lip, and she turned away before he could see that she had been peeking.

"The apology?" He reminded. "The one you seem to think you owe me." He zipped his pants and slipped a fresh button up shirt on over his shoulders, turning to see if she'd been peeking. "And the reason behind your jaunt through the woods with no clothes on."

"It's a little hard to believe…" Barren told him. "I've had a rough past few days."

Randy rolled his eyes and shook his head, letting out a sigh that signaled he was fed up with her dodging the issue. "You know what? Don't even start to act…like _you_ have it rough." He told her rudely. "You know what a rough day looks like Barren? Be-because, I _do_." He stammered, pacing the floor as he picked up his dirty clothing. "In the past week, My father has had Double Bypass surgery…I've lost my fiancé to a man who treats her like shit…I'm on suspension from a job that pays me three-quarters of a million dollars a year…" He tossed his clothing roughly in a pile. "I can't even talk to my mother because I'm blackballed by my big sister who happens to be convinced that I was conceived out of an evil desire to make her life a living hell…My BMW Roadster, a collectors item, by the way, is folded up like a soggy sandwich in some junkyard near Portland, and I ran over a beautiful woman in the middle of the road." He pointed out. "I've done jail time because of you, I have a hangover and I just threw up corn-chips that I don't remember eating."

His voice was a pitiful weak admission of inadequacy as he spoke. "So unless you've come here to, I don't know, tell me that I won the Publisher's Clearing House…or better yet, that you've by some miracle of God Almighty, fixed this mess you've created for me…then you can't _be_ here. With me, in here, together." He gestured firmly with his hands and was on the verge of pouting. "I can't help you, I can't even keep my own shit straight…You're a karmic disaster, Barren…I don't know who you're running from, or what you did…But I have nothing to offer you and all I want is…" He paused and shook his head, unable to verbalize what it was that he wanted.

"What, Randy?" Barren asked, feeling sorry for him. "What _do_ you want?"

He couldn't have told her just then even if he knew, for the phone on the night table, which Barren had picked up and straightened suddenly rang, causing her to jump and him to frown…interrupting the moment for both of them.

"I can help, Randy…" Barren said as he picked up the phone.

Randy frowned and in soft, distressed words, he told her. "Just please, for the love of God…go." He motioned with his hand as he acknowledged the caller.

"Okay." She said softly and turned to exit the room, picking up her bag and donning the ball-cap.

"You're outta there Randy." Nick announced on the other line as Randy watched Barren close the door behind her. "But what's better, is that the girl you ran over, showed up and gave a written statement to the Sheriff and now he's left with nothing to charge you with…he's completely out of luck and excuses."

"What?" Randy asked, not sure he'd heard Nick correctly.

"Yep, evidently she just waltzed into the station this morning and gave her statement, clearing you of any wrong doing…she admitted to the police that she had been running from her boyfriend and that she ran directly into the road by accident…her statement along with your clean blood/tox screening means you can leave the county and stay out your suspension wherever you wish."

"Thanks, Nick…I'll call you back…just, uh…send me a bill, okay?" Randy dumped the antiquated phone hastily back onto the table and made a mad dash out of his hotel room and out onto the dirt road, where he saw that Barren, bag slung over her shoulder, had already begun to walk toward the highway. He sprinted down the road, and then slowed when he reached her side. "Barren, wait, wait-wait." He gently grasped her arm and turned her around. "I didn't know…I'm an ass…I should have let you explain instead of complaining about everything."

"It's all better now huh, Randy?" She said in barely more than a whisper. "You can go back to doing what you do best, and not have _me_ looming over your head." She winked, slid her sunglasses back over her eyes and then smiled, readjusting the bag on her shoulder. "Good luck Randy."

"Listen, listen…wait." Randy didn't want her to go…he hadn't even wanted her to go when he'd woken up and found her there, nor when he'd been in the shower washing coffee off of his backside. He couldn't explain it…he needed her to know that he wasn't the ogre he'd professed to be…he needed _someone_ to know that he wasn't a failure. "Something tells me you took a huge risk in doing what you did for me…I don't know why, I just get that feeling. Let me take you to breakfast…maybe we can both hash everything out and go from there…please…no strings. Besides its Christmas and neither of us has anything better to do." He offered, his hands were on her arms and he liked the feel of them there.

"Well you did promise me coffee, when I was in the hospital…" Barren reminded him, pretending to be contemplating his request.

"None for me." Randy shook his head. "I already had my fair share of coffee this morning."


	11. Chapter 10

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 10

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"

- Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, _Sherlock Holmes (The Sign of Four), 1890_

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"Maybe I should just stay in here." Nancy insisted, a slight quiver of nervousness coursing through her. The thought of having to try to pull off an entire evening of niceties when she wasn't sure she could do it had her ready to stick her head in the sand.

"What? You're gonna hide in the kitchen all evening?" Dave asked amused by her suggestion and very tempted to kiss her mouth, which was now formed into a fearful pout, "Come on…" He reached out and tugged gently at her hand to coax her toward the living room so they could open presents together as a family.

She hung back, a look of fear on her face. "I can't even remember what I bought them…what if I get it all wrong?" Nancy pointed out, pulling her hands out of his and stuffing them behind her back to prevent him from having something to grab onto.

"Well that might have been a good thing three weeks ago when Audrey was trying to bribe you for clues to what we bought." He smiled and offered. "Just think of it this way, they aren't the only ones who'll be surprised by what you bought."

Nancy chewed anxiously on her lip, "Maybe I should just wait…what if I had other presents hidden till the last minute or something and I can't remember where I put them…if I did that I could ruin everything and at least I'll be less embarrassed if I just stay in here." She whispered in a panic, noticing that the front door had come open. "I could have done that right? I mean, you said Audrey picks through presents…It stands to reason I might have done that…Would I have?"

Dave smiled, thoroughly amused by her hesitation. It was a sorry excuse for not wanting to be in his company, but he had to give her credit. If she were willing to try even half as hard to remember as she was to avoid him, she would already be back on track. He stepped forward, taking advantage of the fact that she couldn't move away from him, being as her back was already against the counter surface of the marble topped kitchen island and he slid his hands up to cup either side of her face. "You've been known to keep a secret or two now and then." His voice was gentle and mysterious as he thought to himself about the tiny sonogram picture of his son…her gift to him the night she'd been in the wreck.

He watched as her face went ashen and couldn't help but wonder why all of a sudden she seemed so scared. "You could just try, right?" He asked her and looked directly into her eyes. "Just go out there and try to be happy for the night…I promise they have no plans of eating you alive…and even if they do I'll protect you." He teased and kissed her on the forehead, right next to the fresh bandage.

His hands didn't seem threatening, they were warm and soft, almost pleasing…but it had been the comments he'd made in the past day and a half…something about his enigmatic behavior made her think of a person throwing darts at a bulls-eye, with no real intent of ever hitting the mark, instead it was a game meant to toy with his opponent…her. He'd said she kept secrets. What kind of secrets? From whom? Him? Them? She only knew of one…and it was hidden under a layer of Epsom salt in the master bath, but if she were hiding more than just the key…then she might not ever want to remember.

"I can try." She told him, looking into his eyes…attempting to ignore the fierce pounding of her heart, trying to push aside the fear that she was an unfaithful whore who couldn't even remember that she harbored secrets from her husband. And maybe his hands resting gently on her face were merely an attempt at restraint on his part? What if he really felt like choking her and just didn't want to have to explain a pregnant corpse to his daughters? She got the sense that she might be weaving a thread of absurdity through her line of thinking and so she ignored the preposterous image of his hands around her neck and she forced a smile and nodded. "I'll try."

"Good girl." He told her as she walked ahead of him out of the kitchen to stand in the threshold of where the two rooms met. He was as nervous for his daughters as he was for Nancy. Angie had already explained what Nancy's condition entailed, but still it hadn't appeared to stick in Audrey's mind…his youngest daughter had been horrified by the thought that her stepmother wouldn't remember what she paid her for allowance, or how late she should be allowed to stay up…and she'd expressed those concerns with gusto. That was of course, until, for whatever reason…it had dawned on Audrey that she could infuse and imply, suggest and coerce. Dave knew his daughter well and had seen the look on her face and known the reason for the sudden silence during their discussion on the webcam earlier that day. And he wouldn't deny that he wasn't sure whom he should warn about his suspicions. So he'd told Audrey in no uncertain terms that she was to be truthful and helpful, no matter what she stood to gain from her stepmother's loss of memory.

Vanessa and Audrey stood just inside of the door, coats on…a look of hesitation on their faces that mirrored Nancy's. But in true fashion, Audrey couldn't stay silent for long and she leaned over to her father, who had come to help her with her coat…looked up and asked with eight-year old curiosity.

"Can she see us?"

Nancy, bit her lip to hold back a grin.

"She's not blind Audrey." Vanessa said rolling her eyes.

"But how's she even gonna know what we're saying?" Audrey asked furrowing a brow. It was evident that she hadn't completely understood the ins and outs of amnesia.

"Because I can read lips." Nancy teased, deciding that if she'd been friends with Audrey before, she might easily be able to resume the friendship.

Audrey gasped, clearly intrigued with the notion that someone _she_ knew was actually able to read lips. Deciding that a test was in order, she narrowed her almond shaped eyes and then spoke. "Olive juice, olive juice…" Audrey repeated over and over again, because that's what Toby Davis at school had told her a person should say if they might want to confuse a deaf person. "She'll think I'm saying 'I love you'" Audrey explained to her father who shook his head in confusion.

Dave, reached out and ruffled Audrey's hair. "She's not deaf Audrey…she's teasing you."

Audrey nodded and then smiled sheepishly. "Darn I was hoping you really _could_ read lips, because then I would take you to the kitchen window when Mr. Huntley and his wife are in their kitchen, because they don't shut their blinds and you can see _everything_ they're doing—"

"You know what." Dave interrupted. "Maybe you should go put your coats up."

Audrey nodded, not the least bit phased that she had been halted in mid confession. She scooted quickly forward and without hesitation, latched onto Nancy for a hug and then patted her round stomach saying. "Hi, baby." And as quickly as she had come, she was gone, jetting off toward the stairs at the speed of light.

Nancy was a little tentative not sure how she usually reacted, but she returned the hug and watched Audrey speed off on her mission…leaving behind the coat she was supposed to have put away. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth at the thought that the youngest of her stepdaughters was, capricious and playful…and maybe even a little mischievous.

Vanessa who was always reliably reserved and far more composed, smiled, laying her coat along with Audrey's over the back of the chair. She hesitated for a split second, the look on her face saying something that no one knew, and then she leaned forward, wrapping both arms around Nancy's shoulders, careful not to crush the tummy in between. "Sorry." She said in a soft raspy voice, that made Nancy wonder if she were about to cry. "We all tried to tell her what amnesia was, but I don't guess she remembered…no pun." She pulled back with another grin and a tiny laugh and then took both coats toward the stairwell, finally turning to look over her shoulder she said. "I'm glad you're back."

Nancy let out a tense breath…maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She could do this, couldn't she? "They're great girls."

"They have good role models." He told her, and he meant it. Dave watched her walk into the living room, admiring the view from behind. If he hadn't known better he wouldn't have been able to tell from the back that she was carrying a child. It reminded him of the worry they'd had during her first few months of pregnancy. She'd been sick everyday, usually more than once a day, making it hard for her to visit him on the road very often, being as her constant companion had been the porcelain toilet. Her lack of notable weight gain for the first two trimesters had worried the doctors and nearly landed her an extended term of bed rest. But it wasn't long before her body began to change with the growing baby and she'd developed a nice round tummy, disproving everyone's joking theory that there was a surrogate mother hiding somewhere.

His reverie was interrupted by the reappearance of his youngest daughter, who swooped into the room and baseball slid despite her red dress and tights, right up to the Christmas tree. This brought Nancy's attention to the tree, which stood proud and tall in the center of the living room window, covered in white lights and candy apple red ornaments, interspersed with pearl white balls. She wondered if she had been the one to decorate it…or if they had done it together.

"We're ready, Daddy!" Audrey felt that she was in a position to speak for everyone, as she scooted up close to the tree and began to poke at the packages.

"Hold on." Dave reminded her, knowing that the suspense must be unbearable.

"Ohhhh." Audrey groaned and rocked backward onto her back. "I'm going to _die_ if I have to wait any more." She began to feign suffocation, wrapping her hands around her throat and flailing.

Something about the act was oddly familiar to Nancy and she found it funny.

Vanessa found a place on the floor next to Audrey who was still behaving like a fish out of water. "Brat." She told Audrey and tickled one underarm, until the two became embroiled in a skirmish of tickling and giggling that was only halted by the brightly wrapped gift that their father dangled in front of them.

"Audrey first before she explodes." Vanessa insisted and wrinkled her nose, crossing her eyes when Audrey stuck her tongue out.

Dave dropped the gift in his eager daughter's lap, announcing that it was one from him and watched as she tore into the wrapping without a moment to waste. Both of his daughters were impressed with their gifts, Audrey with her Ipod and Vanessa with a new cell phone that doubled as a two way pager.

Both girls opened a rash of gifts, Audrey squealing with each new present and Vanessa giving the appropriate polite thanks to her father with the occasional teenage accolade. It was Nancy's gift of a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses that finally elicited a squeal from Vanessa. "Oh my God! Thank you!!! I asked for these and you said that Dad said 'no way'!" Vanessa grinned at her stepmother. "I love these."

"You're welcome." Nancy told her, even though she hadn't been able to recall choosing the pink sunglasses, or tricking the teenager into thinking that they were unattainable, but she didn't deny the fact that she was pleased to have chosen something that went over so well.

The gift she had chosen for Audrey received a similar reaction, when the young girl tore into a box stuffed to the brim with tissue paper, Styrofoam peanuts and nothing else. "Wha?" Audrey filtered through the empty box, and then in confusion turned to Nancy, who was just as perplexed as she was.

"It's magic." Dave told his daughter, and then he winked at his wife. He had been clued in on Nancy's plan…and he reached around in the box, digging for a few moments just to add to the anticipation and finally he pulled out a tiny white rabbit. The rabbit certainly hadn't been in there before and all three girls in front of him were spellbound. As pleasing as it was to have his daughters wondering how he had made the rabbit appear, conversely, it was just as bothersome that his wife who had thought up the plan and had her friend teach Dave how to pull off the trick of making the rabbit appear, hadn't been able to get the satisfaction of what she had done…because she couldn't remember.

Audrey, who was usually the one who was making the most noise, was speechless as she stepped forward to receive her tiny white rabbit. She cradled it in her arms and attempted to snuggle it, but the rabbit managed to get free and hop off in the direction of the kitchen. Audrey laughed and told her family. "Look! He's already hungry." She then disappeared to catch her rabbit.

Nancy opened a small gift from her stepdaughters, which turned out to be a platinum heart-shaped pendant with three birthstones in it…Vanessa's, Audrey's and the new baby's.

"Mom helped us pick it, but we bought it with our own money." Vanessa announced, secretly questioning whether her stepmother would even like it. "That's my stone, that's Audrey's and that's the baby's, for February." Vanessa told Nancy, pointing to the appropriate stones.

"February?" Nancy asked…it hadn't dawned on her that she didn't even remember her own due date.

Vanessa suddenly felt like she might have stuffed her foot in her mouth. "Yeah, um, the 2nd." She said softly.

"Thank you, I love it." Nancy told the teenager. Her thoughts of hiding in the kitchen were even more tempting now, as she continued to open gift after gift from her husband, noticing that the pile was getting smaller, and yet there hadn't been even one to him from her. The final gift under the tree, one she was sure must have been her gift to him turned out to be another with her name on it. She was thoroughly embarrassed, when he brought the package over to her with a smile. Why had there been nothing for him under that tree? Had she hidden his gift from his as well?

"This was a last minute gift…but I couldn't resist." He placed it in her lap and instructed her to open it and watched as she did so, pulling away the iridescent blue fabric to reveal an unmarked DVD, lying atop a small black sleeper with the red letters that spelled "Future World Heavyweight Champion". "I had the sleeper made while you were in the hospital." He pulled the disc from the plastic housing and popped it into the DVD player.

"Are we watching movies?" Asked a breathless Audrey who had finally caught the rabbit and had it subdued with a carrot stick.

"Sort of." Dave said and turned the television on. He turned in time to see his wife tuck her legs up under her on the sofa, something she always did…it made everything seem almost normal.

Vanessa, who was already programming numbers into the phone ditched it in favor of what she was sure was a home movie and scooted across the carpet to get a better look.

What the foursome soon saw was a window in grey that gave them all a perfectly clear glimpse of the baby that they had been waiting on. The 3 dimensional picture left them slack-jawed.

"Is that _our_ baby?" Audrey asked, leaning forward, nearly crushing the rabbit in her lap.

Vanessa nearly cooed. "Oh my gosh…that _is_!" Both girls had scooted even closer to the screen. "That baby looks like my baby pictures!"

"Is that a sister?" Audrey asked, her words laced with a slight air of disappointment.

The view alternated from the face, down to the tummy and Vanessa was the first to speak. "Oh my god, that's a boy!" She squealed. "Oh thank God…there's no way we could handle another Audrey!"

"It's a brother?" Audrey too seemed relieved. "That's _so_ good, I'm gonna teach him everything I know and then Vanessa's in for it!"

"Oh no your not!" Vanessa warned. "Daddy, tell her she's not allowed to show him all those tricks she pulls."

"I promise I won't let her corrupt him." Dave assured her and then chanced to turn and glance at his wife, who was biting her bottom lip again, with a despondent look on her face and a trail of tears cutting a path down her face. He wanted to ask her if she was alright, to reach out to her and find out if the tears were from happiness or from sorrow, but she wiped them away as if they hadn't been there, thanked him for his gift and excused herself, headed for the sanctity of the bedroom.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Vanessa inquired. "Was it us? Did we do something?"

"No it wasn't you." He said sighing and slipped the disc back into the sleeve. _'I'm pretty sure it's me again.'_ He told himself, and headed up the stairs to find out.

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He laughed again as he cut the sandwich in half. "You know I really pictured you more as a female boxer." He admitted after Barren told him about her career as a personal trainer.

"Knowing how to throw a punch might have come in handy a few days ago." She grumbled and took a bite of her wrap.

Randy found the comment interesting. "Oh yeah, why's that?"

"Well I promised you I'd tell you the truth…" Barren began. "And as hard as it's going to be to believe, I owe you that much at least."

"I just want the truth…you don't have to lay it all out and then try to defend your position." Randy told her. "Despite popular opinion, I'm fairly intuitive and so I can filter through it all on my own…I can make a judgment without being coached."

"I guessed that about you." Barren admitted, and she had. Something about Randy Orton had convinced her that he was independent and yet needy. Innocent in some ways and far too learned in others. He was a juxtaposition as true as any she'd ever known, as tough as nails on the exterior, but now and again his guard would fall and she was able to catch a glimpse of something softer…more appealing. "I lied to the sheriff, the nurses…" She told him and he nodded, remaining silent. "I wasn't _technically_ running from my boyfriend." Barren felt it largely important that she leave out her current relationship with Owen. "But I _was_ running."

"From whom?" He asked.

"My brother was murdered, not even a week ago, because of something he came across by mistake." Barren told him, but it hadn't been a mistake, Duncan had known about the embezzlement and had ensured that other people would find out in his absence, but she couldn't tell Randy about that either.

At present Randy had placed his sandwich down on the platter and leaned back in the booth, wondering whether this was some sort of con, or by some bad stroke of his luck…the truth.

"The men who killed him, think that I have access to the information…I was running from them." She told him, less enthusiastic about his knowing than before.

"And so you always run around in your lingerie?" He asked, one eyebrow arched in disbelief.

"No." She frowned. "That just happened to be what was under that hideous purple bridesmaid gown that I was wearing when I got clubbed in the back, or the head I don't remember, which." She pushed her food away. "I just remember waking up in a dark room with a headache…" She began to relate the story to Randy…

…_Wrists bound, neck and head throbbing, Barren woke up in what she assumed was a chair. The temptation to cry was stifled by the inner voice that threatened her if she dared show weakness. Slowly she began to piece together the memory of how she had ended up here…the wedding, the reception, the rain…the call. "Duncan…" She began to weep softly, despite the inner voice urging her to be silent, stoic._

_"Crying won't fix it, Barren." A voice from the shadows assured her. "Only one thing will."_

_She wept still, louder. "What did I do?" She sputtered through her tears._

_A laugh from the shadows, followed by a sharp revelatory comment. "What makes you think that you did anything?" _

_Barren let her head fall, but she didn't speak. Inside her the voice came stronger, telling her to be silent, don't cry…it's what he wants. And so she obeyed, sniffing and then taking great measures to compose herself._

_"I just want one thing from you Barren and then we can all go on with our lives." The voice in the shadows told her. "I only want to know what you know and I let you out of here."_

_"The way you let Duncan go free?" She spat angrily._

_The voice in the shadows materialized in the form of a fist to her jaw, sending her and the chair tipping over. _

_"I have his hard drive, Barren." Sullivan told her. "I know he sent you an image…I know you saw his murder…I'm pretty sure you know where the information I want is located."_

_Barren remained silent on the cold floor, her wrists bound tightly behind her, her upper arm throbbing from being pinned between the floor and the side of the chair back. She would stay still and quiet, because that's what her father had told her to do… to hold her peace because it was better to have pride when you were hurt than to show weakness in begging, in revealing what you knew._

_"You have to know that I never really intended for Duncan to die…it just happened that way." Sullivan explained, believing that his confession would extract a like admission from Barren. "You'll be happy to know that I tried to get him to join me in my efforts, Barren…in my cause…and he refused because of his honor."_

_"I could have guessed that on my own." Barren told him and found herself the recipient of a sharp kick to the ribs. She couldn't have responded with a wisecrack if she'd wanted to, it took every ounce of concentration she had just to draw in a breath._

_"This doesn't have to be hard, Barren." Sullivan said. "Tell her, Owen…tell how much easier this whole thing could be."_

_Owen? It couldn't possibly be! She shifted her gaze searching through the shadows to confirm it._

_"Owen's a softy, though." She heard Sullivan say. "He was supposed to knock you on your ass and drag you into the van, but he went easy on you…I think he has a fondness for you." Now she really felt like holding back the tears. Not only was Duncan gone, but the only other man she had trusted since her father's imprisonment, had betrayed her. He was just as culpable in Duncan's murder as if he'd pulled the trigger._

_Perhaps it wouldn't have hurt so badly if she didn't care so much for him and as she lay there on the concrete, with her long auburn tresses, still covering her face, she felt his hand, push them away gently. She tilted her head sideways and in the dim light she could see the look in his eyes. Conflict, guilt, doubt? He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, possessing her lips in a cruel kiss. She fought like all hell to twist away, to kick, to hit…but every body part was bound and his hands in her hair kept her from being able to pull away. _

_Seconds later he pulled away and she cursed him, yelling…not holding her peace, not displaying the dignity her father would tell her she should. A stream of words befitting the most heinous demon flew from her mouth and she continued to wriggle, until her energy was spent and only her tears were left to comfort her._

_"Damn, I haven't seen a fit like that since I told Mary Ann I wasn't paying for her condo anymore." Sullivan remarked, referring to one of many mistresses he kept. "She must have been a lot of fun in your bed, Owen."_

_A raucous round of laughter followed, telling Barren that more than just Sullivan and Owen were in the dank, dark room with her, but she didn't care anymore. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall. Who cared about being strong right now? What would it matter? She didn't know what they wanted anyhow…_

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Randy rolled his eyes and let out a worn-outsigh. "Well, I guess I asked for it. I knew it couldn't be something as simple as _'I left my clothes at a back-woods rave.'_ Or _'I was having a one night stand and changed my mind and took off without my dress.'_" He shook his head.

"That's not funny Randy." Barren said scowling.

"Well, come on!" He said with a smirk of disapproval on his face. "Look at what you're asking me to swallow." He continued. "Somebody killed your brother and kidnapped you because you they think you know the secrets to the universe." He waggled his fingers and scoffed at the mere idea.

"I was right to expect that kind of immaturity from you." Barren snapped, and dug through her jacket pocket searching for money to pay the ticket.

"Think about it Barren, really…you're asking me to buy into some cock and bull story about your brother and some Irish Reformist Party…" Randy pointed out. "I get a script a week dumped in my lap and they all have better more believable plots than this."

"That's a bunch of bullshit…" She laughed, "I seem to remember a plot on wrestling, I saw years ago where some half dead guy kidnapped some girl and made her marry him and then he buried some guy alive, who ended up coming back the very next week…so don't tell me you can't stretch your mind a little on this one!"

"It's just far fetched, Barren, that's all I'm saying." He resumed eating.

Barren crossed her arms over her chest half tempted to huff and puff. "How far fetched is this Randy?" She lifted her shirt high enough for him to see the blackened and bruised ribs. "Do you think I got these bruises trying to catch the bouquet at the wedding?"

He fell silent when he saw the extent of the bruising. Randy hadn't known that it would be that bad and he suddenly felt remorse for what he'd said. "How do I know you're not having an affair with someone and that you're just running from a jealous husband? How unsafe is it for me to be near you right now?" His words were soft but firm.

"Ha!" Barren barked. "As if you would even have room to talk!" She hissed, jabbing a finger to point at him.

"I'm single I can have sex with anyone I see fit." He hitched his thumb toward his chest and reminded her, even as the admission of it stabbed at his heart and reminded him of his very recent break with Samantha.

"Even when your consort has a husband?" Barren prodded, curling up one side of her full lips.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He asked angrily.

"You're pregnant girlfriend." She reminded him. "The one who was in your car when you had the wreck."

Randy's face was maze of confusion, until it dawned on him that she, like half of the hospital staff was confused about the nature of the situation. As soon as that realization hit him fully he leaned his head back against the vinyl booth seat and roared his laughter.

Barren was slightly embarrassed when some of the other patrons in the café began to stare as Randy guffawed, tears streaming down his face, his adam's apple bobbing with each laugh. It was the second time she had seen him truly laugh, fully laugh, since meeting him. And she wouldn't deny that it was one of the most attractive sights she had ever seen. "Well I'm glad you think that's so funny…I doubt if her husband would share your humor."

It was several more seconds before Randy's laughter abated enough for him to respond. "Sweetheart, _Nancy_ is _not_ my consort…or mistress, or girlfriend." He snickered again. "Oh hell, that's just too funny."

Barren felt her cheeks aflame and turned to look out the window.

"Aside from not ever having the time to carry on some illicit affair with her…" Randy pointed out. "She doesn't hold that sort of appeal for me."

"When did you _stop_ being attracted to her." Barren asked only as a measure to gauge whether he had ever had intentions of getting close to her.

Randy thought about her question. "I used to think she had a nice ass…I never really wanted to date her…but if I _had_ held some sort of an interest for her it would have died out the second I knew that Dave was interested in her. I never would have dated her when she was his girlfriend…I'm damn sure not gonna mess with her when she's his wife."

Barren nodded. "I'm sorry, I just assumed…" She told him.

"Sort of like I just assumed that you were running from a husband you had wronged." Randy said apologizing. "I'm sorry...I guess we both have a problem with jumping to conclusions."

"So if she's not your girlfriend…" Barren began, unsure as to how she should word the question, but knowing that she had to find out as much about the woman as possible if she planned on getting the key back. "Then why was she with you?"

"Ah, well it's not anything sinister or scandalous, I assure you." He took a sip of his iced tea. "She was the wardrobe girl a few years ago, whatever you wanna call it, for the wrestling promotion that Dave and work for, that's how they met…she and Dave married and they have this _great_ marriage, man." He said staring off into space. "Rock solid, there's no mistrust between the two… she was visiting him at the arena in Portland, she does that sort of thing…" He explained. "Sends him notes and cards and pictures, pops in without announcing it, he's calling on the road to send flowers and hanging back in the hall on his cell phone so he can talk naughty to her when he thinks we don't hear, but believe me we hear every now and then…all that mushy stuff that makes you wanna be sick." But it didn't make Randy sick, it was what he wanted and couldn't have, because Samantha wanted someone else. "But anyway, she showed up to surprise him and then _she_ had to leave and _he_ had to wrestle and since I was done and headed back to my parents home, Dave asked me if I would take her to the airport so she wouldn't have to take a cab…and we ran over you and went headlong into a tree…and the rest is history." He said it with an air of misery.

"But things are going to be fine, right?" Barren encouraged. "You said she woke up and was released, so everything will work out."

Randy looked doubtful. "Weeell, I don't know about that." He pushed his plate away, suddenly losing his appetite. "She woke up and was released, but she went home with a stranger."

"You lost me." Barren said, feeling a stab of fear.

"She lost her memory, Barren." Randy shook his head, a look of angst on his handsome face. "She has a great husband and two stepdaughters, that she can't even remember…she has no recollection whatsoever of life before she woke up."

For Barren, the unexpected disclosure was something like being sprayed in the face with a high pressure hose. "She has amnesia?" Barren asked maintaining her calm.

"Yep, and because of me…their perfect marriage is probably dodging some pretty hard blows right now."

It was certainly sad about the woman's loss of memory and certainly a travesty for their marriage, but for Barren, the woman's amnesia couldn't have been a better stroke of luck!

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He crossed the threshold into his master bedroom half expecting to see his wife in a heap on the bed weeping, but instead, she was opening and closing drawers and digging through the closet calmly, but desperately.

"Nancy—" He said her name, wanted to get her attention to ask her what had set her off. He never got past the name, she cut him off.

"What kind of wife am I?" She asked as she stood up straight halting her search for whatever it was she had been digging for. The question was as legitimate as any question she might have ever asked, almost worded as if she had asked what time it was.

The question caught Dave by surprise and he shook his head slightly and answered. "You're a good wife." He was afraid of the answer being as he hadn't determined whether her question had been rhetorical or not, and he wasn't sure if she would take offense.

"Why didn't I have a present for you?" She asked softly, not as if she were truly upset that she hadn't given him something, but as if the answer to that question would somehow solve another related problem. "If I'm a good wife, then I never would have let your children see you _not_ get a Christmas gift…would I have?" She wondered if perhaps she hadn't given him the gift because she'd had no intention of being here with him on Christmas. If she had gone to Portland to tell him it was over and then had the wreck on the way out…that might explain a few things.

Dave leaned back against the deep brown walnut dresser. "And so you're looking for a present that you might have hidden, is that it?"

Did he have to have that smile-smirk mix on his face when he spoke? It made her want to throw something at him. "I thought maybe I might find something." She admitted, placing one hand casually on the top of her bulging stomach.

Her hand drew his attention and he had an urge to reach out and place his own hand on her belly to see if his son was moving, but he also knew she wasn't very receptive to his touch and so he stayed where he was. "Audrey didn't get her love of picking through gifts from her mother." He told her. "So I'd imagine you _did_ hide it from me, but it wouldn't be in here."

"Why not?" Nancy inquired, watching him stand up straight and close a drawer that was still slightly ajar.

One corner of his mouth curved up and he appeared to be thinking of something pleasant. "You know this is the first place I would look." He answered. "Because you know me." His voice was smooth and deep. He knew it was probable that she had hidden it until the last second and he could easily recall his birthday just last year when his daughters had gone home a day early, Audrey for soccer camp and Vanessa for some time with her friends. It had conveniently left an empty house for his birthday…a day when he wasn't normally home from the road. He'd called to try to coax Nancy out for the evening, but she'd complained of a heavy workload and suggested that they order take-out since he had to fly out the following morning.

He had driven home to find a full fledged scavenger hunt, complete with notes on paper, hidden all over the house, finally leading him to the studio in the adjoining condo where his wife could be found lying atop her expansive drafting table, wearing _his_ gift…a high-dollar watch he'd been pining for, on her wrist…and _nothing_ else. He remembered distinctly how the take-out never got ordered and also how he hadn't even thought to try the watch on until the following morning…a pleasant side-effect of her distraction.

He hadn't shared his reverie with her and the memory of it had him on the verge of a hard-on, but her next words cut him to the quick.

"I might have known you then, but…I don't know you now…I don't even know me." She said softly, her eyes rimming with tears and she turned and walked into the bathroom to be alone.


	12. Chapter 11

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 11

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"If you go in for argument, take care of your temper. Your logic, if you have any, will take care of itself."

**Joseph Farrell**

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"A delivery driver for the New Heights Linen Supply Company, reported five-hundred dollars missing from his collection bag and this was after he had delivered fresh linens to Oregon Health Sciences. That's a possible lead on your fugitive, being as the delivery log puts his truck leaving the hospital within 10 minutes of her escape." Tammy informed the tall and handsome man who was now her new boss. "The rental car that was registered to Mr. Orton, through his insurance company was returned to the Portland international Airport just two days ago, Sir." She moistened her lips and brushed a stray thread from her sleeve. "I checked the rental company on a hunch just to see if there had been a vehicle change and there wasn't one." She ticked the list off on her fingers, indicating the numerous items as she spoke. "There were no flights listed under _his_ name or with Barren O'Neal as the purchaser of the tickets…and the only two person itineraries that I came across were these…if these don't pan out then his trail ends at the airport." She laid the very neatly put together file on his desk and stood waiting for his approval of her leg-work…or his disapproval.

"Please have a seat. Tammy, is it?" Sullivan O' Thell addressed his new receptionist and then he reached across the massive cherry-oak desk and grasped the file pulling it smoothly back into his grip. With narrowed eyes, he began a curious perusal of the itineraries. "An elderly couple, flight from Portland to Mississippi…two men together, interesting…flight from Portland to Florida, 2 stops…and a married couple, flight from Portland to Tahiti…that's a possibility since she wouldn't want to be found, but I doubt it. I'm not discounting the possibility that the two of them are somehow together, but he's not the most important avenue for me to pursue right now." He murmured dismissively, casting a glance to the stunning brunette, single mother seated in front of him. "Do you have anything else for me?" He asked her.

"I spoke with the county clerk in Hood River to try and get the accident report, and she told me that a woman, matching Barren's description came into the sheriff's office and made a statement regarding the accident on the highway. I don't know if that helps, but I thought you would want to know." Tammy was fairly sweating with the hidden desperation. It was imperative that she keep this new job, with the mounting legal fees for her child custody case, she couldn't afford to be shunned back to another night shift at the truck stop and certainly there was no going back to topless dancing at 'The Painted Pony'. She couldn't possibly afford to mess this opportunity up, being as the salary was nearly double the amount offered by the temp agency and it afforded her the luxury of being able to pay her bills for once. That alone removed one of the major excuses her ex-husband had been touting in court as his reasoning for seeking sole custody of their daughter. So Tammy crossed her fingers and prayed that this display of her intelligence on this job wouldn't be counted as an offense, but rather as an asset. She prayed that this little extra initiative taken on her part would clinch her future employment. "In the event you find the information necessary, here is the address to the station and the name of the receptionist that I spoke with." She pushed the tiny slip of white paper forward and watched a smile form on the face of the man in front of her as he pulled the paper across the desk's slick surface.

"Fantastic legwork, Tammy." Sullivan began. "You have been an invaluable source of information…you can go to lunch now, and take your time. No need to rush back. Just make sure you return before five so I can go over some things with you concerning your new position before I leave town for the holiday." He watched her gracious smile and the elegant tilt of her neck as she gently pushed her hair back over her shoulders. Yes, Tammy was certainly going to be a worthwhile employee, and if he was right about the sparkle in her eye, then he knew there was attraction there.

After Tammy had exited the office, he turned to his accountant Adam, and requested. "She's a single mother isn't she? Run her credit and find out who finances her car." He began, as he tapped his chin with the edge of the folded white paper. "Pay it off and then when she starts asking questions, you can make up something. Tell her its part of a perks package included with her employment."

"Certainly." Adam replied with a knowing smile and jotted the order onto his to-do list.

Sullivan certainly hadn't counted Randy Orton as a possible lead, being as the accident was a simple case of inclement weather, but the new information that he had as a result of his very resourceful new receptionist placed Randy Orton in the dead center of the search. Why else would Barren have gone into the sheriff's office to make a statement for the man? Though Barren was no soldier, she was smart and well taught…she had instincts that usually only appeared with adversity…and so it appeared to him that his dear, darling Barren had found herself a scapegoat. Now all that was left was to call Evan in from the field and give him the appropriate grunt work…something befitting his failure, but first, he was taking a trip to Hood River, Oregon.

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He palmed the new cell phone, happy to have finally found a dealer to replace the one he'd left on the highway. The payphones, although ridding him of the unwanted weight of silver change in his pockets had nickel and dimed him to death. He was weighing the decision to call his mother, still unsure of what to say if he were confronted by Lynn once more. But Barren had insisted that calling his mother was important…that his family should come first.

And as for _her_…well, he had meant to take Barren home, wherever home was, but Barren had made it clear that she wasn't going home. She had tried twice to get him to take her to the bus stop and let her find her own way from there, but he wouldn't. He owed her at least a ride in a comfortable car…besides he was desperate for some company, especially since he didn't seem to have a friend in the world. And despite Barren's rough edges, she was damned good company. Funny, intelligent and beautiful, Barren O'Neal was getting under his skin. Just this morning, the two had left Hood River, but before nailing down a destination, Randy had to call his mother.

Standing outside of the car near the railing, he dialed the familiar number and waited, his heart beating fiercely behind his ribcage. "Please God don't let it be Lynn." He mumbled under his breath.

"Hello." The soft pitch of his mother's voice was a comforting sound. It was like salve to his broken spirit.

"Mom." Randy practically spit out the word in his eagerness to speak with her. "God, I'm sorry I haven't called, I just…"

"I've been carrying the phone around just so that I could be the first to pick it up, when you called." His mother informed him, with a gentle laugh. "Sometimes Lynn speaks before she thinks of the consequences." It was no surprise to Randy that his mother knew what was bothering him. "I've missed you." She said with inflection.

"I know." He told her.

"Nicholas Pemberton called me and told me that everything is settled with the legal end of things…" She explained. "But something tells me that things aren't settled with the emotional end of things."

Randy remained silent as he fought the lump forming in his throat. His mother knew him, better than anyone else and though his sister may have nailed him to the wall for his faults, his mother and her sweet decorum was evermore a gentle reminder that he still meant something to someone.

"Samantha called, yesterday." A pause and then she continued. "I didn't feel like telling her everything, but she heard of your arrest from a website…she's mentioned that she's going to return the ring to the jeweler and that you can pick it up when you come home. She didn't mention what her plans were regarding anything else."

And so it was over…she was giving up on him…on them. "I don't guess it really matters." He admitted softly. "It's just a hunk of metal anyway."

"You've never been a good liar." She laughed, and it sounded almost musical. "Randy, I have things under control here…I'm sending Lynn home tomorrow."

"I can be there by tomorrow evening." He told her. "I just need to make one pit stop first."

"Randy, what I'm saying is that I don't _need_ you here…not that I don't want you, I'm just saying that I know my own son…and I know that you need time to yourself, away from responsibilities."

"Mom, you need my help." He announced, facing the copse of trees lining the side of the road so Barren couldn't see his face. "You can't handle Dad and the ranch too."

"Who says I have to?" She countered proudly. "I hired two hands yesterday from Kenny Dennison's place down the road. He was more than happy to lend me some of his help and I'm getting a great deal."

"Two for one, huh?" Randy asked frowning. "Are you sure you don't need me? I can be there tomorrow."

"Tie up your loose ends, Randy." His mother told him firmly. "Take this time off to reevaluate everything…call me every couple of days because I miss you, but otherwise…go do what you need to do in order to realign your life and your career."

"Is Dad handy?" Randy asked.

"Oh, he's out yelling obscenities at Julio…the two of them will probably go at it for another half hour." His mother referred to the love hate relationship that Bob Orton Senior and his Spanish speaking tack hand had for one another. "As long as your father keeps on believing that Julio can't speak English, then this relationship is bound to be a source of enjoyment for him." And it was true…the two had been friends and enemies for nearly fifteen years, all the while with Bob telling him he didn't know how to do his job and Julio hollering Spanish insults back at him. Sometimes the two would sit on the porch in harmony drinking a beer, with Bob relating stories of old days on the road, and Julio taking it all in as if he understood…Bob still hadn't caught on to the fact that Julio was bilingual, because every time he began to suspect it, Julio went into a flurry of Spanish curse words that started another verbal war between the two. "Call back in a couple of days after Lynn's gone…your Dad knows you love him and I'll tell him you called."

Randy ended the call feeling somewhat better about the whole situation, but still not nearly satisfied with the outcome…it appeared that no matter how they packaged it, everyone on his list was hinting at a need for him to grow up…funny, he thought he had.

"Well, that's all settled." He announced as he slid back into the driver's seat, catching a whiff of sweetness not floral, something that hinted toward the warmth of ginger…the scent of something that pleased his nostrils.

"Going home?" Barren flashed him a smile.

Randy loved the perfect alignment of her teeth beneath the fullness of her lips. "Nope, doesn't look like it." He noticed the pleat of her brow and it lent a certain stillness to her otherwise resistant personality. "Almost feels like I have nowhere to go." His laugh was smooth.

"What will you do?" Barren asked.

"What do _you_ wanna do?" He asked turning in the seat to face her. "I guess I'm on God's good humor…I certainly have the free time..." He couldn't resist the impulse to reach out and twist a strand of the coppery hair between his fingers. It was silken and luminous and he let it fall back to her shoulders and placed a palm on the side of her face, rubbing the pad of his thumb in a gentle pattern on her cheek.

"Maybe you should drop me off between here and wherever it is you're going." Barren told him, reaching up with the intent of removing his hand from her face, she found that her hand on his wrist felt so right, so warm and she left it there. "I don't wanna be the one thing that drags you down, Randy."

"I guess I tend to have that effect on women." He said and with a sigh, he drew his hand away from the softness of her face and turned the key in the ignition. "I really have no clue where I'm going, so unless you know where you're going, then maybe I'll just drive for awhile."

"What about your friend, Randy" Barren suggested. "You mentioned that you wanted to make peace with him, why not go and see him…you can always drop me off in between here and there."

"Dave?" Randy asked. "Well if I feel like taking a severe shit-kicking then that would be the place to go."

"Surely it's not that bad between you two." She offered. "I mean it has to be somewhat amicable, after all he did call your attorney for you when you were arrested…I think you should call him and then you should go and mend fences with him." She nodded emphasizing her point. "Where does he live? I'll help map out a route for you before you drop me off."

"Go with me." He asked her suddenly. "I-I mean that is after I call him, if he'll even speak with me."

"I don't know, Randy." Barren said, holding off for a moment…she surely needed her key, but the last thing she wanted was to give him the wrong message about their newfound friendship.

"I'm not asking for you to share a colonial in the suburbs, with six kids and matching checkbook covers." He grinned and assured her. "I just thought it would be nice to have some company...besides, Seattle is nice this time of year."

Seattle? What a stroke of pure God given luck! If everything hadn't been falling in her lap, Barren might have thought fate had taken its leave. But this! This was better than anything that she could have planned herself. The key was with the woman, in the very city where Duncan had hidden the information that she was in need of…and the woman had no memory of why she had the key and would likely be guarding it thinking that it held some bearing on her past. It was surely the first thing she woke up to find. This alone sealed the deal for Barren. She had to have the key, and that meant that she had to hold on to Randy Orton…no matter what it required…she just had to make sure that she didn't end up falling for him in the process.

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He tore into the envelopes discarding the junk and setting aside the important paperwork, readying himself to pay the bills. It was a task that he usually didn't do being as he spent so much time on the road, but with his wife not knowing the accounts or the amounts, he had been forced into it. That and the fact that she seemed to be more bent on keeping her distance from him than on reacquainting herself with any facet of her former life. First, there had been the doctor's appointment; a follow-up that had been scheduled for the first few days of her return, where she had asked and then finally insisted that he remain in the waiting room and he'd done so, flipping through a magazine and making a concerted effort to keep his anger over the whole incident in check. A forced endeavor on his part to stay completely silent on the way home was all that prevented an impending outburst, and his clenched jaw ached from the effort. And then there were the few games of checkers with Audrey, who seemed to be the only one with whom Nancy could relate. Other than that, it was clear that Nancy was content with secluding herself in the bedroom. And at night, she kept to her side of the bed usually asleep by the time he made it upstairs.

And now just thinking about the past day's events had him riled up again and he felt the urge to tip the heavy dining table over on its top. But there was one thing that prevented it, one thing that held him over from a violent explosion and gave him a measure of hope…and that was _her_ physical reaction to him. Since the moment she had woken, she had been moving further and further away from him, avoiding his touch, orchestrating things so that she and he didn't cross paths except at meal times and during other suitable daily routines. It wasn't hard for him to figure out that her distance stemmed from one of two reasons...either she was genuinely afraid of him and not sure that she could trust him, or her body was simply reacting to and resisting what it knew she wanted, even if her mind hadn't yet caught on.

And so with the thought in mind, Dave had decided to test his theory and had done so when she'd politely asked for his help in reaching a bottle of juice that had been stashed on the top shelf of the pantry. Before she could move away, he had stepped inside, behind her, innocently blocking her exit and reached over her back to retrieve the bottle. Unobtrusive in and of itself and yet he allowed his bare chest and stomach the luxury of grazing against her back when he reached above her. The contact with her body had proved to be a true temptation for him and it had been all he could do not to indulge himself by copping a feel and letting his hand curve around her backside. Instead, he obeyed his premeditated plan and politely handed her the bottle. He then stepped aside, allowing her enough and _only_ enough room to exit the pantry, making certain that her body made definite contact with his on the way out.

He knew his wife well, and he knew the blush of color on her neck and chest meant that she might have been a little embarrassed, but it was the rapid pulse at the base of her throat that told him what he'd wanted to know. That and the fact that she cursed softly as she fumbled with the lid on the juice bottle until she finally gave up on getting it open and had to rely on him to do it. And he had helped her gladly, making intentionally intimate contact with her hand when transferring the open bottle back into her grasp.

Undeniably, he'd wanted to laugh out loud at her frustrated reaction, but he'd had another opportunity to do so, when he'd purposely gone into the master bath to take his shower fully intending for her to walk in on him. She had…and though he was aware that she'd lingered a few seconds longer than necessary for a simple case of happenstance, Dave Batista knew that his wife would never admit to it if confronted. He'd caught her watching him and so he'd decided that if he couldn't reach her emotionally, then he'd just have to do it physically. It was obvious that her own body hadn't forgotten him, even if _she_ had and he was determined to reawaken the knowledge of him in her mind…by deliberately taunting her with the very thing she was avoiding…_Him_.

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Nancy peeked around the door of the master bathroom and then after confirming that there was no one in sight she tiptoed hurriedly into the bedroom wrapped tightly in a bath towel, with her curly chestnut hair casting rivulets of water down her back. The main door to the room was closed so she felt fairly safe in dressing, but she twisted the lock anyhow and began to dress quickly. She was thoroughly convinced that if she got what was coming to her, then her husband would be barging in on her any minute now, to even the score. She hadn't intended to walk in on him when he'd been in the shower…it was his fault in fact! He had showered down the hall in the other bathroom for days and all of a sudden there he was; tall and proud, wet and virile, standing in the master shower stall when she had rounded the corner this morning. She wouldn't have stayed to look but she couldn't take her eyes off of him…the glass door was unfrosted and there was _nothing_ in between her and the sight of him with his back turned to her as he reached to return a shampoo bottle to the shelf. His wide chiseled back had been covered with a tattoo that had her wondering about his past and it tapered down to a much slimmer waist and a very attractive derriere atop powerfully muscular legs.

She closed her eyes, fighting with the image of how he'd turned to rinse his hair under the water and how she'd clearly caught a glimpse of something _else_ that caused her eyes to widen and her pulse to pound. It also reminded her of the fact that she was spying on him without his knowing and she turned quickly to leave, catching her knee on the stool in the floor causing the iron legs to scrape loudly on the etched concrete. The noise had caught his attention and shaking the water from his eyes he turned to face her…or had he already been facing her? How was she to know if he already knew she had been watching him? And in her fumbling state, she stuttered a swift apology and fled, but not before she had the chance to see the knowing smile form on his handsome, angular face and hear his deep fluid laughter as it chased her from the room.

Nancy tugged the wide-leg jeans on, followed by the fitted, salmon, v-neck sweater. Aside from being thoroughly out of sorts around him and by him, she was tired too…she had tossed and turned for days worried about the situation with her husband and this other man, and only an hour ago her husband had come downstairs freshly shaven with a smug grin on his face, remarking about how wonderful it was to have a shower the very first thing in the morning. He was mocking her…and now she had to face him again…she had no choice, because she was hungry and he was in the kitchen where the food was.

She walked down the hall past her stepdaughter's room and stopped next to the spare room which had been converted into a nursery. She hadn't gone inside of this room even once since she had come home, somehow feeling as if it wasn't her right…as if she had been invading someone else's space. But with the twenty pound expanse of belly in front of her and the constant movement as a reminder that she was in fact going to be a mother soon, she determined that putting her energy toward her baby might help her get her mind off of everything else that bothered her. Nancy pressed her palm against the door frame and stepped through the door. Inside, she noticed that the walls had been painted a soft shade of cream that reminded her of a sugar cookie. The room was accented with crisp white trim around massive windows, which faced the east, letting in the morning light. A large round crib, one she suspected had cost a mint, was stationed in the center of the room, imposing itself as the undisputed focal point. It was truly a masterpiece with a canopy hanging from the ceiling, casting delicate curtains down the sides of the crib, making it seem cozy.

Black and white pictures of different worldly places had been hung on the walls, some depicting bridges and historic landmarks and others showing the Eiffel tower and the Pyramids of Egypt…all seemed to be professionally taken and coordinated well with the black and cream toile, interspersed with ticking in the same color-scheme. She touched the tall dresser in its distressed black finish, with red paint peeking through on the worn corners and the beat-up knobs. A bright red rocker in the corner with a black and white striped cushion, upon which was a blue battered stuffed dog, had her envisioning herself feeding her baby in this room. She walked to the oversized window seat, inundated with pillows that beckoned to be indulged and so she did, gladly sinking down into the lushness of the window seat, deciding that this would be a perfect place to read a book. "I bet you have no clue how much fuss everyone's making over you, do you?" She said in a low voice to the child in her womb as she pressed her hand against her stomach where she felt what she guessed might be an elbow or a knee.

"Did you enjoy your shower?" A voice from the door way caused her to jump and she turned to find her husband in the doorway, massive…his shoulders casting a shadow that filled in the frame. She knew that the nuance in his tone suggested that he was mocking her again, referring to her peeping tom incident, but she brushed it off unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her humiliation.

"This room is comfortable." Nancy told him, making certain to change the subject.

He nodded, sweeping his gaze appreciatively from one point in the room to the next. "You did it." He notified her. "You picked the colors and the fabrics. You made all the…pillows and curtains…all the other fluffy stuff. The pictures are a sort of combined effort of your travels and mine…pictures we took…I only got input on _one_ thing." He held a single finger up as he spoke.

"What was that?" She asked, curious to know if he meant that she was spoiled and had gotten her way often.

"The crib." He said, and she realized that with it being the most important, most crucial piece in the room, the two of them had either come to some sort of compromise or they had been in tandem with one another at some point.

"Why round?" She asked.

"I don't know." He reached out and ran his hand over the rail. "It just caught my eye." He told her of some more things she had chosen for the room, and opened the closet door to show her the changing table that had been installed expressly as a pull-out to save on space. He complimented her ingenuity and told her "That window seat has a queen sized bed in it."

He told her of how she had chosen that particular amenity so she could sleep in the baby's room when he was away, but his next announcement nearly jerked the air from her lungs. "Of course it could come in handy tonight."

"Why is that?" Nancy had a vision of him banishing her to the baby's room because she hadn't been succumbing to his recent advances.

"Randy Orton is going to be spending New Years Eve, here."

She leaned against the pillow, crooking one arm over it casually, willing herself to appear calm and nonchalant. "Why here?" Her words were even and measured, but they came out in barely a whisper.

"Because even though I'm angry with him, his friendship means a lot to me…and besides that, it would be rude to put him up in a hotel." He stepped even further into the room and fiddled with an antique letter 'A' wooden block on the dresser, spinning it onto its side. "He's bringing someone."

"Oh, I see." Nancy knew she had gone pale, feeling the blood rush away from her face. What was he trying to do, now? Why was he telling her this? Could he be announcing the arrival of Randy Orton just to gauge her reaction? Her husband had said that he was angry with Randy, but that his friendship was important. Was it possible that he was bringing him here so that the whole dynamic of her infidelity could be settled? Brought out into the open? The entire situation was driving her mad and her rumbling tummy along with another constant round of kicking prompted her to excuse herself for the moment.

Dave was bewildered by her behavior as he again resumed the task of flipping through the bills along with an occasional reply to a text message from Vanessa, who was practicing with her new phone. He was glad he'd purchased a plan with unlimited text, because he soon discovered that she could send him one message and then badger him with five more before he could type in a reply to the first. She had messaged him again while he'd been in the nursery, telling him that she and Audrey would be back from their mother's in a half hour and so he resumed his task of paying the bills, so his mind didn't have to battle with the other worries.

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She fidgeted like mad with the comforter, shuffling to get things in order before the unwanted visitors arrived. Tossing a pillow in the center of the bed, she murmured a frustrated curse and with a hand, she chopped the pillow in the center, causing the edge to pucker, giving a more relaxed appearance on the massive bed. Nancy wasn't sure how she was supposed to behave in the company of someone that she might have been having an affair with. Should she hide in the bedroom all night? No she couldn't do that, because it was New Years Eve and there was no way she could justify embarrassing her husband and stepdaughters by being a recluse. She had to face the unknown…but how could she possibly react when she couldn't even recall the nature of what had happened?

She groaned when the shirt she was trying to put away kept slipping off the hanger and finally Nancy tossed the garment into the closet floor followed by the hanger and retreated from the massive walk-in, slamming the door shut behind her. Turning the dresser lamp on, she was greeted by a whirlwind in a twin sized sheet who went by the name of Audrey.

"Nancy, I have to tell you something and it's very big important!" Audrey was breathless, as she skidded to halt next to the freshly made bed. "But only you can't tell Vanessa cuz she will _freak_ out." She looked up at Nancy with hopeful eyes.

A curious tilt of her head, Nancy's brow pleated. She was almost afraid to ask what had happened. "What's wrong?" She asked hesitantly.

Audrey frowned, tugging on the sad twin sized sheet that served as her cape. "I lost the rabbit." She announced, her chin quivering. "I was trying to make him disappear, like daddy made him appear, and when I did it…it worked." She announced.

"He's _gone_?" Nancy began to panic…he could be anywhere in the huge condo by now. "That's _not_ good."

"Only that's not the real, real bad part." Audrey said, swallowing hard, near tears, wringing her tiny fingers.

"What could be worse than _that_?" Nancy asked, afraid for the answer.

"Two things." Audrey answered.

"Like what?" Nancy asked gently, as she bent down to look Audrey in the eye.

"I used Vanessa's bag because I didn't have a hat to put him under, like the magicians on TV use…" She began with a hooded expression and a pout that tore at Nancy's heart. "It was her leather bag with those letters on it…the 'Looney Vitton' one, and I didn't know that there was a shirt in the bag…her basketball jersey."

Nancy's eyebrows flew up in shock, and she suddenly realized the extent of Audrey's fear.

"So I was gonna make him disappear but I had to go pee, and so I left him in there and went pee, but when I came back he was _gone_." Audrey resumed her confession. "And he chewed on that shirt real good, and he had a little poop in the bag…not a pellet poop, but a wet poop that makes me gag." She put her face in her hands.

"That's a fine use of descriptive words Audrey but waayy too much information for me." Nancy said referring to the rabbit's accident.

"I think that if Vanessa knows, she's gonna tell Daddy and then he'll make me pay for that 'Looney' bag, like he did when I ran out of pink crayon and broke up her lipstick…by an accident."

Nancy was fully aware that there was an exponential difference between a five dollar lipstick and a $500 designer satchel…there was no way that Audrey could accumulate enough allowance in a year to pay for that 'Looney' bag.

Audrey tilted her head back and whined. "It's gonna take all my twenty dollars in my piggy bank to buy a new bag. I was saving my money for a card trick and some shocktarts."

Nancy watched as Audrey climbed up on the newly made bed and hugged the pillow, a tiny trail of tears dripped down her cheek, darkening the pillow's fabric. "And now my rabbit is gone and I can't even call for him because I didn't get to name him and so he won't answer to me when I call…and I'm gonna be in _so_ _much_ trouble."

Nancy wondered how she might have dealt with this in the past but the tiny tears and the worried face made it hard for her to want to do much other than fix the situation at all costs. "Not if we find the rabbit before everyone gets here, you won't." Nancy said in a low voice fumbling for a solution for the bag. "We can't lie and _not_ tell Vanessa, but maybe I can take the bag to the cleaners or something and then we only have the shirt to worry about." She chewed the corner of her nail, wracking her brain for the location of the rabbit.

"Will you help me?" Audrey begged. "Don't tell Vanessa, she's gonna _kill_ me!"

"We can't lie to her." Nancy explained softly, preparing to go to Vanessa and soften the blow, but was interrupted by the doorbell. "Damn."

Audrey appeared genuinely relieved for the interruption. She scrambled down off the bed wiping her eyes with the corner of her cape announcing that she was going to say 'hello' to Randy and then look for the rabbit. She disappeared, through the open door, with her dark brown ponytail bouncing behind her and although Nancy knew that Audrey hadn't immediately forgotten her troubles, she marveled at the girl's ability to push the difficulty aside when she found something else more interesting. It had Nancy believing she might actually be able to do the same

Nancy straightened the bed covers, realigned the pillow and then as an afterthought, she bent over, lifted the bed-skirt and looked under the bed for the missing rabbit. "Where are you, you little furry…"

"Still looking for my Christmas gift?"

"Jeez—" Nancy jerked to a standing position and let the bed-skirt drop. "No." She insisted with a scowl. "Do you always sneak up on people?" She snapped. The sudden appearance of that smirk had her tempted to throw the pillow at him.

"Only you." He told her. "You used to love it when I snuck up on you."

Nancy could only imagine to what he might be referring when she heard the darker tone in his voice. Obviously he was remembering something that she herself hadn't been able to recall. "Well all it does now is raise my blood pressure." She announced and brushed past him and into the bathroom.

He was three shakes from following her in that bathroom and showing her a much more pleasing way to get her blood pressure up, but instead he shook his head, let out a light chuckle and headed downstairs without her.

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Barren stood behind Randy when the front door swung open. She was hesitant about meeting Nancy, but desperate for her key and if she played her cards right, she might end up with the key and be on her way to Ontario within the next twenty-four hours. Her thoughts were cut short by the emergence of a tiny girl with a sheet for a cape, latching onto Randy Orton's leg, gifting him with a 'hello', and then she unlatched herself from Randy and took off.

Barren watched as Randy shook hands with his friend and entered the house behind him, being introduced to Dave herself, his children and then being ushered into the living room…where was she? The only introduction she was hell bent on making was with the woman who had her key. Barren relinquished her coat to Vanessa who was ogling Randy, and she sat down on the couch waiting. She took in the surroundings, thick upholstered furnishings, no clutter, deep dark walnuts had been used in the coffee table surface and the floors were a lighter oak, with thick rugs placed at angles beneath the furniture. She could smell cinnamon, pleasing and warm and she loved the ambiance of the golden burst of sparks from a log crackling in the fireplace, beneath a carved walnut mantel…So this was what family felt like?

The woman descending the stairs brought her to attention…she was the one Barren had been waiting for…a round belly and a nervous face…sporting a small flesh colored bandage on her forehead. She was pretty, but in a classical way, with delicate features, not holding much weight for someone who was having a baby, but Barren supposed that all women were different. Her curly chestnut hair was loosely pulled back and held there by a soft twist of one section of hair, and despite the bandage and the slight bruising under her eyes, which she must have tried to camouflage, no one would have guessed that she had been on the brink of death a mere week ago. Barren noticed how stand-offish she seemed, stopping at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her husband to introduce her to their guests. Now all Barren had to do was develop a friendship with the woman so that she could determine the location of the key. But even that was going to prove hard, being as the woman had amnesia…she might have woken up believing that the key was hers…and Barren knew it was wise to let her continue to think that.

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"I'm Barren." The woman in front of her was striking though Nancy could detect the bruises on her face through the make-up she had used to attempt a cover-up. Her auburn hair danced between shades of molten espresso and burnished copper and lay in sharp straight layers down her back, save for the sections that curved in toward her face, lending a softness to the angle of her jaw. Something about her reminded Nancy of someone else…though the memory wouldn't quite catch…she was fairly certain she'd had contact with her or someone like her in the past.

"Baron…like the Red Baron? That's an interesting name." Nancy noted as her mouth curved into a friendly smile. Certainly having her here helped take the edge off of the awkwardness of the situation.

"It's Barren, more like desert wasteland kind of Barren." The woman told her as they all stood around making introductions.

"Nice to meet you, Barren." Nancy acknowledged and then turned when her husband began to introduce Randy.

She shook hands with the tall wrestler and then nearly fell through the floor when he leaned forward and embraced her in familiarity.

"I'm glad you're gonna be fine." He told her. "Everyone was pulling for you…_and_ the kiddo." He gingerly placed a hand on her stomach and patted twice, then removed it when he sensed her discomfort.

"Thank you." Nancy's said as her mouth went dry. "I'm thirsty." She excused herself to the kitchen, while everyone else found sanctuary in the living room. Nancy dug through the refrigerator for a bottle of water and felt a gentle tug on her shirt. Audrey popped up next to her.

"Did you find my rabbit?" Audrey whispered behind a cupped palm.

"No, but I hope we do before dinner." Nancy stood and gave Audrey a reassuring squeeze. "It would sure be inconvenient if he popped up in the middle of the meal."

"I hid Vanessa's bag until you can take it to the cleaners." Audrey admitted optimistically.

Nancy frowned and reminded her. "We'll deal with the bag tomorrow, but for now, keep looking for the rabbit."

Audrey saluted and took off again with the cape flying behind her.

A sly glance behind the trash can told her that the rabbit had not decided to hide in the kitchen. So Nancy decided that she had better give at least a miniscule effort to being hospitable and try to get her unwanted guests something to drink as well. She poked her head around the corner and asked her husband and her guests if they'd like something to drink as well and then after politely refusing any help, she ducked back into the kitchen and proceeded to search for the implements to make a cocktail.

She dug swiftly through cabinets until she found thick bottomed glasses and then, knowing that the liquor was in the pantry, she set aside the ice bucket and opened the pantry door. "Okay, where is the…" She dug behind several bottles of mixers and then her hand found the neck of what she assumed was a liquor bottle. Nancy bent over to part the rows of mixers and bottled sodas when she was blindsided by the white rabbit.

Her startled scream filled the pantry and she stood up, breathing heavily, one hand on her chest and the other on her stomach. She glowered at the long lost bunny who had happily been munching on cereal and with muffled curses and threats she picked the bunny up. "You're lucky we're having fish for dinner, or you' be dead meat." She whispered. Her attempt to back out of the pantry was halted by her husband who had come to check on her, followed by Randy and Barren who all stood around, wondering why she had screamed.

"It's okay…nothing's wrong." Nancy told him.

Upon hearing that, Randy ushered Barren back out into the living room perplexed by the situation…his friend and his friend's wife were now half holed up in the pantry…he dared not ask why.

"Rabbit problems?" Dave asked his wife, as he stared over her shoulder, seeing the white long eared rabbit in her arms. "If he scares you so bad, maybe you shouldn't play with him." Something in his statement told her he was speaking of something other than the rabbit.

"I'm not afraid of a rabbit." She told her husband her chin lifting with the challenge.

Dave softly took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, conflict flashing through his deep brown eyes. He was inches from kissing her…he wanted it…missed it, but he wouldn't do it. "Then what _are_ you afraid of?" his words were almost a whisper and she felt a sudden warmth and tingle where his hand was, and a suffocating nearness and it told her that even if she couldn't remember it…she and he had been very much in tune with one another.

The moment was cut short by Audrey whose shoes made a squeak on the kitchen floor. Nancy turned to see an undeniably hopeful look in the young girl's eyes. "I'm done playing with the rabbit, Audrey" She said, clearing her throat and leaving the pantry. "Go put him away and this time, don't try any rabbit tricks until we've bought a hat made for that sort of thing." The last comment was whispered in Audrey's ear and the young girl nodded her agreement. She transferred the rabbit in Audrey's hands and then went to the sink to wash her own hands.

She watched her husband pull out the liquor bottle after he swept up the scattered cereal. He knew full well she hadn't been playing with the rabbit and he probably could have even guessed that the rabbit had been missing. There was the smirk again.

"I can have Vanessa set the table for dinner, if you wanted to go sit down and talk with Randy and Barren." Dave suggested, noticing the instant loss of color in her face.

"Why would I wanna talk with them?" She stuttered.

"Oh, maybe just because they're our guests." He quirked a brow. "Or maybe you might even get some insight into your past by talking to somebody besides me, since it's apparent that you don't trust me."

Nancy blanched. Had it been that obvious? She bit her lip and wrapped the dishtowel around the pewter hook on the wall. This had to stop…the questioning, the tormenting…it was time that she knew and even though she should probably have asked days ago, Nancy knew that if she didn't get things out into the open right now, she could never sit through a meal with Randy Orton, wondering if the two of them had been having an affair. It was too awkward and she had to know, for her own peace of mind.

"Remember when you said you would answer questions if I had them?" Nancy asked somewhat hesitantly as she leaned back against the counter.

"Mmm, hmm." Dave murmured nonchalantly, stirring the whiskey into the glass and pouring the soda as a mixer.

How to ask…Nancy thought as she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. _'Come out with it'_, her inner voice told her. "Was I cheating on you?"

The question slammed into Dave Batista like a full speed freight train into a cinder-block wall…and just at the very moment he'd been tasting his drink. The beverage went down the wrong pipe and came right back up the wrong pipe through his nose and out of his mouth. It sent him into a coughing fit and he sputtered his freshly mixed drink all over the island leaving spots on the countertop, the floor and his shirt.

Nancy watched him half choking and half coughing, unsure as to whether she should try to save his life or start running in an attempt to save her own. She took a step forward and tentatively offered him the dishtowel after pulling it back off of the hook.

He snatched it away and used it to dry his mouth off and then after another round of coughing, he grimaced, casting a dark look toward her. "Why in the hell would you ask me a question like _that_?" his statement was rude, punctuated by a cough.

Nancy wrung her fingers together and then finally she shot back in a fierce whisper so as not to arouse the attention of their guests. "Well, you're the one who said I could ask you anything even if it sounded stupid!"

Dave shook his head and turned on the faucet, wetting the corner of the dishtowel. "Well that _was…_without a doubt…a _stupid_ question." His words were low, but menacing, angry even. He swiped the wet towel over the dark spots of liquor on his shirt.

"Well, what do you expect me to think? I was in a car with another man when I had a wreck…and the nurses…they all talked about how they believed I was having an affair even when they didn't think I was listening!" Nancy insisted, hurt that he'd taken offense when he'd promised he'd be open to her curiosity..

Dave frowned and laid the towel down on the island. "I guess I set myself up for that one." His voice was softer less threatening, and he coughed once more. "I didn't really explain the situation very well, did I?"

"No…you didn't." Nancy admitted, a measure of bravery braided itself through her tone.

"You came to see me in Portland the night of your wreck." He told her. "You snuck a sonogram picture in my bag, letting me know that you finally found out that our baby was a boy." He said, remembering. "I was going to make you stay and ride back with me in the morning…I should have." His eyes and his voice held a sliver of regret. "I'm the one who asked Randy to give you a ride to the airport, because I was afraid for you to take a cab in the dark, stupid huh? You probably would have been safer." Nancy couldn't understand why she had the sudden desire to reach out to him, to run her hand down his back and tell him that there was no way he could have known that they would crash, but she stayed her hand.

"…But in answer to your question…no. The two of you haven't been having an affair, besides being totally in love with _me_…" He joked, trying to cover up the weakness he felt. "You really don't have a whole lot of quality contact with men, other than Max, your best friend, and the fed-ex man, who happens to be in love with Max…but that's a whole other story that we don't need to get into right now, bearing to the fact that Max likes women..." Dave shook his head and frowned once more. "Anyway, that should answer your question…I hope." He seemed saddened, but Nancy didn't know whether it was from her question or from the knowledge that she hadn't even trusted the fact that their marriage had been as rock solid as he had said.

"You're upset aren't you?" She asked him, her voice fading to a nervous rasp as she fiddled with her fingernail.

"That's presumptuous, don't you think?" He asked her coolly, almost condescendingly. "You can somehow think you know what I'm feeling and yet we both know you really don't want to have a whole lot to do with me, much less get reacquainted." His words were hurtful and scornful even though they were measured and soft-spoken. "I need to go change my shirt." He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear and then spinning on his heel, he left her standing there, with her mouth open wide in astonishment.

She had no idea whether she was more surprised by the fact that he'd used the word _presumptuous_ or because he'd outright treated her like a child! Whichever of the two it was, she was at least grateful to know that she wasn't the whore she'd thought she had been. And with that little slice of knowledge under her belt, she sloughed off his insensitive comments, placed the remaining intact drinks on a tray and walked out to serve her guests.

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He really couldn't blame her…not for being curious about things…but he hadn't in his wildest dreams ever expected to hear a question like the one she'd hurled at her. Her assumption about having an affair would certainly explain a good deal of the way she had been behaving lately, but not all of it. And to tell the truth it had been his own damned fault, simply because he'd dealt so gingerly with her, just suggesting that he'd be there when she got ready to talk, rather than sitting her down and telling her everything surrounding the wreck.

And if he thought hard enough he might even be inclined to admit it was really rather funny, be he still wasn't going to laugh about it. Not for a long while yet. And as he watched her, through the cut out in the wall, as she and Barren had some unintelligible conversation in the kitchen, she seemed a little more at ease, relaxed…she was beautiful…oblivious to how her indifference was killing him. But he loved her and if the price for her peace had come at his expense, and the expense of his shirt, then so be it.

"So things are okay…even if not normal?" Randy prompted, holding his drink in his hand, as the two men isolated themselves in the living room.

"That depends on how you define 'okay' as opposed to what _you_ think is 'normal'" He said wryly, his nasal passages still stinging from his bout with the whiskey.

"Well, one minute your wife is fine and hospitable, the next she's screaming and then the two of you are holed up in your pantry…then, you're choking and coughing…I'm just curious."

Dave laughed, remembering her reaction to the rabbit and the searing attraction he'd felt at her nearness in the pantry. "She's just trying to find her bearings, that's all…and I just happen to be hampering the process." He took a sip of his drink. "She can't remember anything and so she's trying to read between the lines…it's confusing for everyone…she's even a bit anti-social at times…I'm not sure how to help her. There are things I want and things I need, and remembering how it was _before_ is worse…because it's nothing like that now…she's fidgety and afraid. I get near her and she acts like I'm bent on hurting her. I just never imagined I would have to fight for my marriage like this…I'm not competing with a memory…I'm competing against a _lack_ of memory. It's like fighting with a ghost that you never can see."

Randy nodded, not sure how to advise his friend or even if he should. "Well, look at it this way…" He told his friend. "How many men can say that they had the opportunity to make their wife fall in love with them twice in one lifetime?"

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"I've always joked about not being able to remember what I had for breakfast," Barren admitted to Nancy, helping her new pregnant 'friend' scour the kitchen for aluminum foil. "But I could never begin to imagine what it would be like not to remember anything at all...What's it like?"

Nancy lifted her head from her bent position, where she had been digging through yet another drawer in her kitchen. "Oh, I don't know exactly…" Nancy said absently, standing up and placing her hand on her lower back which had now begun to throb in earnest. "I guess it's a little like forgetting your password for your e-mail and you know that people have been sending you things…maybe even good things, and you just can't get at them." She blew a stray curl up off of her forehead, and then turned to resume her digging. "Where the hell is the foil?"

Barren was trying…and Nancy was resistant. Without a friendship, there wouldn't be any degree of trust. And without trust…Nancy was never going to reveal the location of the key. "Why don't we ask your husband, maybe he knows."

_'I'm sure he does and I'll just bet he'd love to corner me again when he finds it.'_ She said to herself. Nancy frowned, head still down as she dug. "I'll find it…eventually."

Barren began to search for the foil again, deciding that while she was relegated to a scavenger hunt, she might as well try to get some information out of the deal. "So what was the first thing you remember after you woke up?"

The question surprised Nancy, piqued her curiosity as to why someone that barely knew her would be so inquisitive about her, but rather than be rude she decided to answer. "I guess you could say it was _him_." She grinned and placed her hand on her stomach. "I was a little panicked about being pregnant and not remembering it. But I got over that aspect pretty quick…I'm sort of exited about it now."

"That _would_ be scary." Barren said, chewing her lip. _'The key…you have my key!' _Barren wanted to scream and shake the woman in front of her just to get the information she needed and she might have if she hadn't been pregnant.

"I bet waking up and seeing your husband in your room was a bit frightening…he's a big fellow." Barren probed, as she opened a few random cabinets looking more for her key than for the foil.

How had she guessed? Yes it had been frightening, not that she had banked on him hurting her physically, but still his size and intensity had been a source of fear for her. "A little bit, yeah." Nancy admitted hesitantly. Why was she asking these questions? Was she just trying to make conversation and not realizing she was being a bit rude.

Barren sensed Nancy's discomfort. "I'm sorry I don't mean to pry…I just wanted to get to know you."

"I do have a question for you." Nancy said shuffling through a drawer in the island. "It just seems weird to me, that Randy ran over you…" She gestured toward the living room. "And yet the two of you are dating now." She laughed and shook her head.

"Not dating." Barren corrected, taking a sip of her wine. "Just friends…I think we have a lot in common."

Barren decided that unless she wanted to start answering some more of Nancy's deeper questions, that she had better set a new tone with more subdued questions of her own. "Funny, it takes a car accident to meet someone decent nowadays." Barren said. "How was it that you and Dave met?"

"Aha!" Nancy stood up from her excavation through the island drawer, holding the foil in one hand. "Well, from what I can gather, our meeting was an accident of another kind." She ripped a thin, shiny sheet of foil from the roll and covered the dish of leftover grilled salmon. "Evidently, I wasn't watching where I was going and I spilled coffee all over some girl he had been seeing…I'm sure there's more to it than that, but since I can't remember…I have to take his word for it."

Barren was sure that she had heard a shadow of doubt in Nancy's statement and she knew that it provided an 'in' for her…if she could find a creative way to exploit it. "Your husband loves you…Randy bragged about how solid your marriage is…it must be a great comfort to you to have someone so wonderful." She waited…to hear a concurrent response, something that told her that Nancy wasn't doubting her marriage, but the pretty pregnant woman only nodded her head indifferently and slid the covered dish into the refrigerator after a small struggle to make room. Deciding that the conversation was lagging and that an attempt to revive it might be construed as pathetic, Barren decided to help gather the remaining dishes.

Nancy scraped a dish into the trash and placed it in the sink, wishing that she could let herself relax. "I'm sorry if I seem a little unsociable." She offered. "I keep trying to err on the side of caution and just be normal, but I'm not sure if I was ever normal." She laughed. "I do wonder how I _used_ to act." She confided. "You know? I wonder…was I happy? Was I a nag? Stuff like that."

No response could be heard due to the sudden ruckus in the living room, where a loud erratic knock on the door could be heard, followed by several deliberately noisy and annoying chimes of the doorbell. Nancy watched her husband stand from his position on the sofa, smiling as though he knew who it might be.

In seconds, the thick door was opening and in stepped a rotund man with dishwater blonde hair. He stepped in complete with a bright orange parka and two large obtrusive pieces of luggage in tow. Dave shook hands with the loud man, pulling him into a hug. "Thanks for comin', man." She heard Dave say.

"I got tired of those women in Hollywood." The man responded. "Besides, I know how lazy Nancy is." He laughed and then tugged his coat off, nodding cordially to Vanessa who had just come down the stairs. He caught sight of Nancy who was watching the interaction with interest. The man then held both arms out to his sides, tilting his head and with a smile he approached her, speaking with great affection.

"Nancy, _Baby_." He embraced her, amidst her shock and despite any hesitation she might have had. "Would it have killed you to call me?"

Nancy's lips turned into a thin smile and she looked at Dave as if to ask who the man might be.

"I bet you haven't done a damn thing in days." He told her laughing. "I'll even be willing to venture that everything is still just draped across the tables in the studio…lazy ass." He muttered and then planted a very hard kiss on her cheek. "By the way…I thought we discussed your diet…" He patted her stomach. "You're starting to look more and more like me everyday."

Nancy had gleaned a few details from Dave's description of her business partner and this fellow sure seemed to fit the profile. "You're Max." She said calmly, smiling.

"That's not what my birth records say, but we won't go there." He told her behind a hand. "But yes, I am Max, your best friend…the one who carries the weight of our company on his shoulders…and just in case you forgot…" He announced in jest. "Right before your accident…" He squinted. "You cut me in for a 60 percent draw on all future profits and you bought me a company car…it's that silver one in the garage." He referred to the Ferrari belonging to her husband.

"Take your foot out of your mouth and come have a drink." Dave told Max, and put him in a playful headlock, pulling him toward the living room.

"We'll talk later." Max told her in a choked voice, blowing her an awkward kiss from his locked up position.

Nancy understood why she might have liked the man. He was absolutely crass and undeniably politically incorrect. He hadn't tried to be sympathetic to her problem, but rather the opposite. He had teased her about being lazy, and fat when she knew that she wasn't…he made her feel like laughing. And it was obvious that Dave was fond of him…the two of them were laughing and Max was now good-naturedly insulting her husband telling him that he didn't know how to make a drink.

"Come on Dave!" Max barked. "I can get more liquor out of a bottle of cough syrup! Don't be cheap!"

Randy glanced at his watch and then with wide eyes, he waved a hand and told the group. "It's almost midnight."

Everyone began to shuffle into the living room to watch the ball drop. Vanessa who had a raging crush on her father's friend Randy, was now edging a little closer to the empty spot between him and Max. Audrey, who never seemed to slow down, hopped into the room, _without_ her rabbit and made a tough face at Max, flexing her tiny bicep. He returned the scary face and pretended to shake his fist. Barren was content to stand next to the sofa where Randy sat, leaving Nancy to stand next to Dave, who had planted both hands on Audrey's shoulders to keep her from bouncing away.

The countdown was finished and kisses were exchanged, first with Max reaching out for Barren, despite the fact he didn't even know her…he whipped her into his arms, amidst her squeal, and dipped her all the way back, planting a very brash kiss on her lips...he then returned her to her standing position, and then went after Randy, who laughed and fought him off.

Randy was left standing there, watching Barren who was touching her lip with her fingers…it was now or never, and he set his glass on the coffee table, grasping her hand and pulling her gently forward. A chaste kiss on her lips…and he realized with some trepidation that he wanted more. "Happy New Year." He whispered.

Nancy found herself being moved and before she even knew what happened, her husband leaned over her shoulder as he spun her and pressed his lips softly and quickly to hers and then released her before she resisted, or worse yet, slapped him. The look of sudden fury flashed through her jade green eyes, making them flash and glitter. He even thought he detected a slight flare of her nostrils, but she schooled her expression quickly. "Happy New Year." He told her, his lips curving into a knowing smile. Not looking away, his eyes dared her to say a harsh word in front of their company.

"I'm really tired." He heard her say, but instead of rushing out, surprisingly she took the time to shake hands with Barren and Randy and accept another exuberant hug from Max, before taking her leave. Again he could see that the skin on her throat had turned an appealing shade of red and he knew that he'd affected her. It had been the smallest kiss they'd ever shared…the fastest most innocent contact, but that one tiny New Year's Kiss had brought him just another step closer to achieving his desired result.


	13. Chapter 12

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 12

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"**You learn more by falling than by the fear of falling." – Chinese Proverb**

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Was she hiding under the covers? That's certainly what she felt like…Burrowing even deeper beneath them, Nancy could still feel her cheeks burn with the humiliation of knowing that her body was remembering him, finding him familiar…and yet her stunted brain was fighting it every step of the way. _Damn_ him! If she didn't know better she might be persuaded to think that he was purposely doing what he was doing…but what was he doing? Trying to seduce her? Now that was a riot…a man trying to seduce his very own wife. She was sure that there were women out there who would tell her she was a fool for second guessing a good thing. She'd not invited his kiss and even though she hadn't found it horrible, something about the swift contact of their mouths had sent her heart thumping and made the flesh of her lips tingle. If she closed her eyes, she could remember his hands on her upper arms as he'd spun her slightly and even recall the feel of those warm lips on hers, however brief…and that was the problem! She _had_ to close her eyes if she intended to sleep, and every time she did, she saw him.

Nancy groaned angrily and whipped the coverlet back, sitting up. And there he stood…in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest. The arrogant tilt of his head provoked some barely controlled derision in her and she stood up, summoning every ounce of lady-like dignity she could muster and padded barefoot past him toward the bathroom. "You always lean against the door like that…are you holding the walls up, or is it the other way around?" She shot out without breaking stride.

His chuckle could be heard behind her, close behind, as if he'd chosen to follow. He slipped into the bathroom on her heels and pulled a towel from the cabinet and then remarked in a rather jovial tone, "I think tonight went well."

"You _would_." Nancy replied, narrowing her eyes and then she splashed cold water on her face, trying to relieve some of the heat that her body was enduring.

"You're angry." He turned his back to her, hiding a smile as he twisted the faucet handle in the massive tub, unleashing the powerful flow of hot water.

"You're a genius…perceptive at the very least." She responded sarcastically, filling the tiny cup by the sink with water and sipping it. She watched the stream of hot water cascading into the tub, kicking up steam and interacting with the gel he poured, causing a froth of ivory bubbles.

"Now which of the horrible things that happened tonight has you so riled up?" He tossed the towel on the stool and checked his watch. She thought he looked tired. "Was it the fact that you had a wonderful dinner with friends that pissed you off, or are you irritated by the fact that you have so many things to be thankful for, like for instance the reality that you're alive to celebrate another year?"

Nancy shook her head, thinking of the kiss. "You just have a never ending supply of sarcasm don't you?" She snapped, turning to set the cup back in its place.

Dave sighed, a frown crossing his features…by damned she was difficult! "Something tells me it was the fact that I kissed you that ticked you off." He pulled his shirt off over the breadth of his shoulders and threw it carelessly to the floor.

Nancy felt her stomach tighten at the sight of him, shirtless…though not provocative in itself; her unhindered view of his upper half had the effect of being trapped in the headlights. She found herself staring at his chest and the well defined muscles that made up his entire torso. Thick pecs that rose and fell with each breath supported by rigid abdominals and solid, striated oblique muscles. A sunburst tattoo encircled his navel, hinting at what might be below. Ripping her gaze upward, she saw that he was watching her…watching him…again. "Well, the least you could have done is let me remember something, before you start trying to resume our—" She told him softly, her face burning with embarrassment.

"Our what?" He asked, unbuttoning the top button of his pants. "Our sex life?"

'_Ohhhh!'_ He was so snide, and frustrating, exasperating…attractive yes, and that was probably why she had any reaction to him to begin with. What woman wouldn't find him handsome, breathtaking…but right now she had the most all consuming urge to push him backward into those wonderful smelling bubbles. "Whatever you wanna call it." She crooked a brow and pursed her lips.

"Oh, sweetheart." He laughed and shook his head. "If that tiny kiss has you all twisted up, then I can't imagine what you'd do if I told you all of the other things we do." He watched her eyes open wider and her lips parted ever so slightly. "How do you think you ended up the way you are?" He reached one large palm out and ran it softly across her stomach.

Nancy glowered at him, backing up a step. "Just let me acclimate…its only fair." She insisted.

"Acclimate…" He repeated, swiping his hand through the tub to test the water. "That's an interesting choice of words."

"Well I would think you'd have no trouble with large and interesting _words_." Nancy feigned shock. "I mean you certainly had no problem telling me that I was…oh, what was the word? _Presumptuous_…that's right." She tapped the side of her head. "Obviously you're an educated man, but in the event that you're not…I believe I caught sight of a dictionary downstairs in your office…unless of course it's just for show."

"That's all _you_, baby." He said standing to his full height, his lips curled into a smirk. "The sharp wit…the intelligence…" He stopped within inches of the front of her body. "Even the way you lift your chin when you're making your case." His words were liquid, deep and smooth. He reached out and curled one hand around the back of her neck, while he pressed the palm of the other against the wall next to the side of her head, preventing her exit. "You always used to do that…" his lips grazed across her cheek and though he knew she might be skittish, she never attempted to move.

And yet he was also aware that in order to win the game, he had to dictate the pace…he had to retain all of the control…and he had a distinct advantage to begin with, because he knew every single touch, every little word that forced her body into submission…and she had no clue. Denying her now would be to his benefit…making her think that he was apathetic, might just bait her and thus start the wall of resistance on a steady crumble. He firmed his grip on the back of her neck and leaned in close to the side of her face so that she could hear him whisper. "It's late, Nancy…I'm tired…and I don't have patience for games…" His words caressed the side of her neck. "So unless you wanna end up being dragged into that bathtub with me…then you'd better find your way out before I strip down to nothing."

He loosened his hold and wasn't surprised when she pushed against his chest and left the bathroom with a look of supreme wrath on her face. Dave Batista knew his wife probably wanted to slam the door on him but because of her innate nature for being kind, she would never do such a thing when they had guests sleeping down the hall and so he waited until she closed the door gently and then he sat on the stool and laughed. The whole idea of enticing his wife was proving to be a very entertaining pursuit and her body's inherent reply to his further cemented his need to stay his course.

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"She's definitely different, that's for sure." Randy said in a subdued voice as he pulled the sheets back from the queen sleeper in the nursery and stacked the pillows.

Barren sat down in the rocker and gave it a few healthy rocks, taking in the massive nursery and the expensive furnishings. "Lucky kid."

"Yeah, no shit." Randy chuckled, following her eyes around the room. "He's gonna end up spoiled rotten…I guess he's the only _boy_ born into the family since Dave was a baby…even all of the cousins have had girls, so everyone's just waiting to converge on this kid." He pulled his shirt off and laid it in a pile in the corner.

Barren again bit her lip drawn in by the masculine perfection in front of her. Long, lean, muscular…he was more athletic in appearance than Owen, who was stout and stocky. Randy was definitely more appealing than he had a right to be and Barren was finding it harder to ignore the way her womanhood was being tugged at by the attraction. She watched him from behind as he stood before the unborn boy's dresser and took his watch off and removed his wallet and other things, placing them on the dresser top. She wanted to trace the intricate design of his tattoos with her fingers, wanted to run her hand over the taught planes of his skin to see if it really was as smooth as it appeared. She sighed and shook away the temptation. "She seems so scared." Barren told him and watched him nod. "Sort of in fear of life…it's weird."

"If she knew what her life was like _before_ the accident, then she'd be fighting to get it back." He said, motioning with one finger for her to turn away, while he removed his pants. "I know _I'd_ fight for it…if I had someone that loved me the way they love each other."

"Maybe she just needs a friend." Barren offered. "Someone that's not biased…someone that never knew her past, someone who just likes her for how she is right now." She leaned back in the rocker.

"I think that would be a big help…" Randy admitted and then the thought struck him, that with nowhere to sink his roots during the ninety-day suspension, he was free to pursue any crazy endeavor he deemed worthy. "Maybe I'll stick around Seattle for awhile…how about you?" It also occurred to him that Barren could prove to be _that_ friend…for Nancy.

Barren smiled "It's not like I can run out and start passing out my resume anytime soon." She stared out of the window at the dark sky. "I can't go back to my apartment…I never even got to paint it. I'm not sure what I'll do." She said wistfully, her eyes stinging with unshed tears at the memory of Duncan.

Randy wasn't sure why he felt desperation at the mere thought of Barren taking off and going on her own way…perhaps it was because he was missing Samantha and he needed someone, anyone…No, he had to be truthful and Samantha wasn't the reason he wanted Barren. "As comfortable as the rocking chair looks, I doubt it'll be good for an all-nighter." He said pulling back the covers so she could crawl in the bed beside him. "I promise I won't try anything."

"Damn…and I was _so_ hoping you would." Barren joked and then slapped at his hand when he touched her thigh as a joke. She wouldn't deny that the touch in jest had given her a tingle.

Randy laughed and snapped the lamp off, shrouding the room in darkness. "You really have nowhere to go, Barren…why don't we just do something together." It was a gamble…but the most she could do was say _'no'_ and it certainly wouldn't be the first time in awhile that he'd known rejection. "I think I'm gonna stay here in Seattle for my suspension…not in this house…but in the city…you could stay too, until you figured out what it is you have to do." He might have been holding his breath while waiting for her answer…it wouldn't have surprised him.

"That's nice of you, Randy." Barren said staring at the darkness. "I'll sleep on it."

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He slipped into his bed, the sheets cool against his heated skin. Dave Batista wished that the bath could have washed away the past few weeks, but nothing in his life would ever prove to be that easy. She was sleeping…truly sleeping, with her breathing even and peaceful, her eyes shut…dark lashes casting a shadow over her lower lids. Her smooth variegated curls were splayed on the pillow and one arm was raised casually over her head on the pillow, the other laying carelessly at the side of her body. He leaned over her and felt the familiar torment raging through his body, sweeping up his emotions along with it. He wanted her to remember…_needed_ for her to remember how good her life was, how important she was to him and how important he was to her and at the same time he wished that there was something he could do amidst the absence of her memory that would make her fall for him all over again. He'd certainly never forgotten how it had felt, when he'd first discovered, years ago, that she was in love with him and he with her…when he'd known that she would be willing to give up everything to be with him. But that was then…and now, she seemed more willing to give up everything just to keep him at bay.

He wanted to touch her face, run the backs of his fingers over her flesh…and more, but he didn't want to risk waking her and having her push him away. Instead he placed one palm, with the gentlest of ease, flat against her belly and leaned down to talk to his child. She made the slightest stirring in her sleep, but she didn't wake and so he spoke low to his son, something he hadn't been able to do since the hospital. He told the boy the same secrets, the same promises as before…and when he finished, he pressed his lips softly to her stomach.

"What are you saying?"

His eyes flew wide open and he jerked his head up, just knowing that she had regained her memory. She would only have known that she had always said that particular phrase if…she had her memory back! But she hadn't said it, for her eyes were still closed and her breathing remained constant. His heart plummeted at the realization that his imagination had been playing a cruel trick on him. Maybe he'd wanted her back so badly that he'd conjured her voice out of thin air. He sighed and pulled his hand from her skin and then she stirred again, rolling over to her left side after a tiny struggle with her belly and then clutched the pillow.

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"Wake up." The voice sounded as if it were coming from the inside of a coffee can. "Get up, Nancy."

Nancy rolled over and opened an eye, noting her cape wearing stepdaughter, who was at present holding an empty coffee can over her tiny smiling face, speaking loudly and mysteriously into it. Nancy sighed and pulled the pillow over her eyes laughing softly.

Audrey pulled the can down from her face and then yanked the pillow off of her stepmother's head. "You _have_ to get up." She announced in a rather urgent voice, as she placed emphasis on the word _have_. "Vanessa is on the phone with one of her stupid friends, and Randy and the _girl_ went to do stuff."

"Why would I have to get up just for that?" Nancy asked taking back the pillow Audrey had stolen and tucking it under her head, facing the young girl.

"Because no one else will watch my magic tricks." Audrey said, with a slight whine and a huff of frustration.

"What about your Daddy?" Nancy offered, suddenly reminded of last night's encounter in the master bath.

Audrey shook her head, tapping on the coffee can lightly with her fingers. "I didn't ask him because he's busy making stuffed pancakes."

Nancy arched a brow in confusion. "What is a stuffed pancake?" Did she dare to wait for the answer?

Audrey smiled. "I forgot…You don't remember…" She held her hands up in the air. "It's just big round regular pancakes that you stuff in your mouth." She announced proudly. "I made that up when I was a kid…and you used to think it was cute…so that's what we always call it now."

"Oh." Nancy felt guilty for not being able to remember. "Do I like them?"

"Oh yeah!" Audrey told her, nodding brightly. "You better hurry or else you won't get any, Daddy eats a lot."

"Well in that case, give me a minute and I'll be down there, for the magic trick and the stuffed pancakes." Nancy told her. "The trick wouldn't happen to have anything to do with rabbits, would it?"

"No, I'm just using money." Audrey swore, holding one tiny hand over her heart in earnest. "I'm making it disappear."

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"I think it's great, but you're the one who'll be living here for two and a half months." Barren told Randy as the rental company agent led them both through the tiny two bedroom cottage style house nestled between two historical districts in a grove of trees. "So much character." Barren breathed and slid her hand over the moldings of the bedroom door.

Randy stared at the barrel vaulted ceilings and bounced a little on the balls of his toes, taking note of the noisy hardwood floors. Something about the old house with all of its character flaws reminded Randy of himself. "I'll take it." He told the rental agent, who agreed that he wouldn't find a better rental house for the money. He followed the man down the stairs, wishing that Barren might have been more exuberant about being there…but she seemed hesitant, full of conflict.

"You could do a lot with this place." She told him as she stepped for the second time into the kitchen and peeked into the farmer's sink that had been placed back into the house in keeping with the home's historical pedigree. "Beautiful…"

Randy looked up after he penned his name on the lease and handed the man the appropriate amount of cash. "Yeah, tell me about it." He said softly, not referring to the house, but to her. In the soft pink skirt and grey sweater she wore, snooping curiously through the cabinets.

He finished his business with the agent and then suggested that it would be wise to buy groceries if they planned on eating. Nodding, Barren followed him back outside, but halted, when he turned around suddenly and gripped her arms.

"Stay here." He suggested in a hurriedly trembling voice and a heart that was threatening to beat its way out of his chest. "I'm not asking for marriage or anything…there are two rooms…I'm not trying to force you into anything, just let me help you." He was stuttering, rambling…confused by even his own words and he watched the fear and clash of emotions in her silver eyes.

"Why?" She asked so low that it came out as a whisper. "You know I can't promise you much…I don't even know where I stand with all the rest…"

"Just stay until you have to move on." Randy asked, giving her arms a little shake. "I can't be here more than a couple of months, myself…lets just live…with no expectations from each other…just…"

"Let me think about it, Randy." Barren told him.

And he could have sworn that he saw tears forming as she ducked into the passenger seat of the car.

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"Okay, here's how it goes." Audrey began, gesturing with her hands as Nancy watched intently. "Give me a five dollar bill and I'll make it disappear."

Dave reached into his wallet pulling out the bill and handed it to Nancy since her purse was somewhere in the other room. Nancy transferred the bill to Audrey who folded it up unevenly and randomly, insisting that this would be the best magic trick of all time.

"Now you have to close your eyes." Audrey explained.

"Wait a minute." Dave told her. "That's not how _'slight of hand'_ works…you're supposed to perform the trick while our eyes are open so that we can be _amazed_."

Audrey puffed and rolled her eyes. "You are _supposed_ to do what the magician _tells_ you to do…or you'll ruin it."

"Okay we'll close our eyes." Nancy announced and closed her eyes.

"Don't cheat!" Audrey warned and then began to speak her own version of magic words, and after stomping her foot three times on the floor, she announced in a loud exuberant voice. "Okay open up your eyes!!"

Nancy, who had been fighting to hold in a smile the entire time, opened her eyes to behold a bright and smiling Audrey, who was standing, palms facing outward to indicate that she had indeed made the money disappear.

"It's gone." Nancy said in mock astonishment.

"I know." Audrey said with a devious gleam in her eyes as she nodded.

Dave finished his coffee and then announced. "The true mystery is where it went."

"Make it reappear." Nancy challenged her, as she pulled one leg up underneath her body, trying to get more comfortable, despite the expanse of her belly.

"Oh, I can't do that." Audrey shook her head.

Dave chuckled. "So somewhere out there in the universe floats a five dollar bill."

Audrey frowned at her father's failure to properly appreciate her magical talents. "Well, Daddy, five dollar bills are hard to make reappear, bigger ones can be found easier, so if I had a twenty dollar bill…" She insisted.

"Ha, ha…fat chance." He told his daughter and placed his plate in the sink and then refilled his coffee cup, turning to face his wife, who was smiling at Audrey. "I thought we'd drive to the Sound today if you feel like getting out." He offered.

Nancy was contemplating her refusal when Vanessa rushed into the kitchen in veiled urgency and leaned a bolt of silvery satin fabric vertically against the table edge. "I have a huge dilemma… and I wasn't gonna bother you with any of this, because…you know…your accident…" She stammered with a despondent look on her face. "But the sophomore dance is in a week and…you and I had planned this dress…and—"

"Vanessa, why don't we wait on that and I'll take you to a shop in town and we can get one." Dave offered. He could clearly remember the plan to which Vanessa had been referring, because for the past two years Nancy had been designing and making every special occasion outfit for Vanessa. It was fast becoming a tradition for the two of them. And because this dance was important to Vanessa he knew that a ready made dress wouldn't have near the impact that one of his wife's designs would.

"Please…" Vanessa encouraged her stepmother. "I know that you can't remember, but I think if you just…maybe…_try_ to start it then it might jog your memory. It could be a good thing!" Vanessa ignored her father and pursued the issue.

Nancy sucked in a deep breath and began to toy with her lip. "Gosh, Vanessa…I don't—"

"You know how to do this stuff in your sleep!" Vanessa said in desperation. "I'm not asking for much…this is so important, _please_!" She held out the faded drawing of the dress that she had scribbled from memory, and when she saw Nancy turn the drawing sideways and study it, she bolted into action, pulled the centerpiece off of the table thrusting it into her father's hands and then rolled out the bolt of shimmering fabric across the table, her eyes filling with hope.

Nancy stared closely at the drawing on the wrinkled paper and then she stood up and turned to lay her fingertips against the soft elegant fabric. The whole room had fallen so silent that she could fairly hear the blood thumping in her ears as her heart pumped it through her veins. She gripped the scissors that Vanessa held out to her. "I don't wanna ruin it." Nancy admitted, hesitating.

"You can _do_ this." Vanessa encouraged, her own heart beating wildly.

Dave could see the look on his wife's face changing from hesitation to fear and knew he had to put a stop to the whole thing. "Vanessa—" He touched his daughter's shoulder and she turned her hopeful eyes on him. "She can do it, Dad."

Nancy knew that she ran the risk of disappointing Vanessa but still she opted to make the effort, and so she gently laid the paper picture on the table, smoothing its wrinkled edges and she hefted the scissors again, poised above the fabric. Nancy closed her eyes and a flood of visions she couldn't put her finger on began to take over, running through her mind's eye at light speed. Numbers, lines, angles and colors raced so swiftly by that she couldn't hold onto a single thing as it ricocheted through her brain. It was a sheer jumble of unknown variables, fractions, mathematic equations…like flipping through a book of black and white stick figures at an extremely rapid pace. Frightening, the whole thing… and she chose to let go of the images and opened her eyes, laying the scissors down atop the fabric. She whispered. "I-I can't, Vanessa…I'm sorry." She shook her head and wiped the sweat that had formed on her forehead.

Vanessa's eyes widened. "Yes you can…you _know_ this!" She insisted. "You have to, Nancy!"

"I don't remember." Nancy said shaking her head, unable to meet her stepdaughter's frantic gaze.

"That's your excuse for everything now isn't it?!" Vanessa blasted. "It's convenient, because as long as you don't remember something, then you never have to give it any attention or effort, right?"

Dave stepped closer to Vanessa. "Stop it." He warned softly, his voice holding an edge of aithority.

"Go ahead and stick up for her, Daddy!" Vanessa told him. "Pretend like it doesn't hurt your feelings that she doesn't want to remember anything about _you_, especially!" She turned her anger back to her stepmother. "I'm not blind! I know how the two of you are around each other…how you used to be!" Vanessa pleaded in her anger."I needed this…and you won't even _try_!" The teenager began to cry as she shouted. "You're my friend and you used to tell me that I should be bold and not be afraid of anything...but you're a hypocrite, because you're scared of everything."

Tears dripped down Nancy's face but she didn't speak, knowing that she didn't have a defense.

"Vanessa, stop it." Dave said again, more firmly. "I said I'd take you to get a dress...let this go." He spoke through clenched teeth, upset with the situation, upset that he was powerless to control it.

Vanessa shot her father a dark and angry look. "It's not about the dress!" She wept. "She doesn't even want to remember us…she won't even try!" She turned to her stepmother and pointed an angry finger at her. "As bad as it is for you…not knowing who you are…its worse for us, because _we_ remember, and you could care less!"

As much as Dave wanted to stop the interaction, as much as he wanted to say something that would reverse the damage that had been done, he found he couldn't…because Vanessa spoke the truth. And now his daughter's shoulders shook with sobs as she stood there holding the paper drawing between her fingers, and then seconds later she retreated without another word.

Audrey, who was apparently shell-shocked, stared wide-eyed at her sister as she fled and then turned to look at her stepmother and then her father. Her tiny chin quivered as she nodded at her father's gentle request for her to go play for a bit and then she trudged sadly up the stairs where Vanessa had just gone.

Nancy turned her back on Dave and pushed her chair in. So many of the words Vanessa had spoken hit home. The words hurt because they were the truth. She placed one hand on her belly and another on her forehead. What sort of cruel karmic joke had been thrust on her? If she'd even believed in karma at all, she still wouldn't have been able to remember what she'd done in a past life to deserve such pain…she couldn't even remember _this_ life! She felt her husband's hands, warm and gentle on her shoulders and she turned around to face him

He gazed at her, saddened by the red rimmed eyes and the tears falling down the smooth skin of her face. Her lips were plumper, he noticed as one glistening tear dripped over them. "I'm sorry." He told her.

"Are you?" She asked and she swiped at her tears, with one palm.

"I am." He confirmed. "I should never have let it go that far."

"Why not? You know she's right." Nancy admitted, her lips trembling with the effort of holding back more of the tears that lay just behind her eyes.

"That doesn't matter." He assured her. "She's never talked to you that way, before…I don't know what made her snap, I'm sure she didn't mean what she said…"

"It doesn't make her words any less truthful, does it?" Nancy's voice was raspy and heartrending as she pulled away from his attempted embrace and headed through the hall past the office and out onto the deck.

Dave Batista blew out an angry breath and laced his fingers together behind his head. "Fuck!" He hissed, as he paced the kitchen.

This wasn't how he'd imagined New Years Day would go. It wasn't how last New Years had gone, nor the one before. And now all of a sudden everyone in the house was in tears. His oldest daughter was isolated in her room, his wife was on the deck taking a breather and Audrey was God knows where, probably hiding under the bed with her rabbit while he was in the kitchen steering an out of control ship. He had to get everything back in running order and fast, since he was required back on Smack Down in three days. But he wasn't even sure that he could get it back under control.

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She leaned back against the cold iron of the bench seat, pulling her sweater around her and as much as she wanted to hold in her sorrow and anger, she couldn't. Nancy put her hands over her face and cried. But the fear of being caught in the midst of an emotional meltdown overcame her and just as quickly as she began, the tears subsided and she swiped at the moisture on her cheeks. She turned when she heard the glass door to the adjoining condo sliding open.

"Max." She acknowledged and composed herself, sitting up straight trying to hide the fact that she had been crying.

"Nice day, huh?" he joked referring to the cold and rainy day, glad that the deck had a shelter over it. He sat down on the bench beside her, holding his paper plate, complete with a Reuben sandwich, chips and a pickle slice. He had overheard the verbal altercation via the slightly ajar door of the studio that adjoined the two condos at the end of the bottom floor. "Had a lot of excitement, this morning?"

Nancy nodded, tucking her hands further inside of the sweater sleeves. "Yeah, a little." She watched him bite into his sandwich and wipe the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

"I uh…I lost this blanket once." He announced rather simply through chews.

"That's real nice, Max…but I hardly think the loss of your blanket carries a similarity to the loss of my whole life's worth of memories." She said wryly.

He nodded and chewed thoughtfully, noting that she truly wasn't herself, because if she were, she would have already helped herself to the pickle on his plate without permission. "I know it doesn't compare, but it's sort of relative and it's the closest thing I've got to an example, just bear with me." Max tossed a chip into his mouth. "So anyways, I woke up one morning and went to the bathroom and then to breakfast, yadda, yadda…well when I went back upstairs, Mr. Blankee was gone…"

"Mr. Blankee?" Nancy said her face screwing into confusion.

"Are you gonna lemme finish?" Max asked, and then when she nodded, he continued. "As I was saying, I looked everywhere and I couldn't locate him…it was crazy, because I was panicked half out of my mind. I was crying and I even refused to go anywhere without Mr. Blankee, because he was, well…he was my security blanket. "Max chewed another bite. "I stayed out of preschool for two weeks and I missed the field trip to the zoo, not that I would have taken Mr. Blankee into the zoo, it's just the fact that I knew he was gone that kept me from doing anything for almost two weeks!" Max shook his head at the memory. "Finally I sort of figured that I was never gonna find him and I just kind of got up my courage and I went on without him…I went back to preschool and church…and became the fine man you see before you today."

Nancy laughed, and covered the cold tip of her nose with the fingers of one hand so as to warm it up.

"What I'm trying to say, is that I missed out on a whole lot of cool stuff, because I was so determined that I couldn't do anything without Mr. Blankee…but when I finally realized that he might never come back, I moved on and made the best of a hurtful situation." He watched, as the meat of his parable hit home. "I know that you can't remember them or me or even _yourself_, and believe me there are parts of your life that you might be better off not remembering…ever. Hell, there are parts of last _night_ I'd be better off not remembering…so what I guess I'm suggesting is that instead of trying so hard to remember some shred of what you think defines you as a person, and being afraid because you think you can't be the person you were _before_ you smacked your melon, why not let all of that go and just _be_." He turned, still holding the plate on his knee. "Just be _somebody_…even if it's not the person you were before."

She pulled her hand down from her nose. "I just don't feel like I fit in, here." She confessed, warm fresh tears, dripping down her face.

Max smiled sympathetically and tweaked the tip of her cold nose very softly. "Then make your own space." He stood and shivered, causing several of the chips to shake off of the paper plate.

"Max?" She asked before he turned to go.

"Yep?"

"Did you ever get Mr. Blankee back?"

"Oh, hell yeah…" He laughed sheepishly. "My mother hid that damn thing under her bed trying to wean me of it and I came across it about a month later…I ended up taking him with me to college."

Nancy smiled. "Max?" She asked again. "Could I have that pickle if you're not eating it?"

He glanced down at the plate and then at his best friend. Holding the plate out so she could take it for herself, he said in a smooth voice. "I'd almost bet money that your 'Mr. Blankee' won't stay missing for long." And then he shivered again violently. "I'm going in."

"Thanks Max."


	14. Chapter 13

**Uncommon Bond**

Chapter 13

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Tell me, and I'll forget. Show me, and I'll remember. Involve me, and I'll learn."

Marla Jones

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"The clerk says that a single male checked into the room, but that the following day he left with a female companion." Evan told Sullivan, as he ducked back into the car and out of the rain. A sigh of frustration bubbled past his full lips as he readjusted his body in the seat. "Could be Barren, but the fellow's a wrestler and he has a reputation as a womanizer…he's been known to live up to his moniker of _'The Lady Killer'_, so he could have been with any number of women, not necessarily our girl."

"Well we wouldn't be exhausting ourselves, trying to resuscitate a lead if you had done your job in the first place, and not allowed your cock to do the thinking for you!" Sullivan barked, his forehead creasing as a ripple of smoke curled from the tip of his cigar.

"Oh…how damn black is the pot, if I'm the kettle, Sully, huh?" Evan shook his head and huffed. "_You're_ the one who taught me everything I know so don't speak to me as if you never fucked something up by thinking with the wrong head!"

Sullivan chuckled and put the Cherokee into gear. "I never said that you couldn't have your fun, Evan…just _after_ this thing with Barren ends." He pointed a long finger into the face of his companion. "From here on out, you can't fuck anyone unless I say so…" He almost laughed at the end of his own statement upon realizing how preposterous he sounded. His gravel-like chuckle thoroughly eradicated his air of authority and brought about a round of nervous laughter from all four of the men in the car.

"By damned, Sully, ye sound like my mother." Evan shook his head and smiled, laughing despite his frustration. "Next thing ye know ye'll be buying nappies fer my ass?"

"Well that might be helpful if I have to keep cleaning up after your shit." Sullivan told him as he backed out of the lot and sped down the road. "Get those plane tickets out will you."

"Who in the hell is in Missouri?" Evan asked as he glanced over the itinerary, a look of interest settling in his hazel eyes.

"I'm not sure exactly who all we'll find." Sullivan said in a secretive tone. "I'm just going on a lead from the rental car company…we can thank my lovely new assistant for that." He smiled inwardly, determined that as soon as he was able to settle the mess with Barren, that he would indeed _thank_ his lovely new assistant. "I have an address…P.O Box, but I'm sure we can swing something and get the name that we need and a physical address so we can question this fellow."

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Dave had been intent on following his wife onto the deck, not only to coerce her back in from the morning cold and the blustering winds, but to try to reassure her that Vanessa hadn't meant any true harm. The entire scenario had been largely out of control. His normally cool, calm and collected daughter had gone into an emotional tailspin, and even though she had been out of line…she _had_ been telling the truth. Vanessa had simply said what _he'd_ not had the nerve to say. And though he could not fault Vanessa for how she felt, he would deal with her for how she had voiced her feelings, but first he had to get his wife back inside out of the elements.

His large hand met with the bronze latch on the French door but just as he'd been about to open it he'd been greeted by a conversation between his wife and her best friend Max. As much as it bothered him that he wasn't her first choice of someone to seek for comfort, he'd been thankful that Max had come out when he did. Max was bumbling and awkward, loud and animated, but Max knew Nancy about as well as anyone could. The two hadn't had the time together that they'd enjoyed in the past since Max had been in charge of the out of town affairs for their company. But nonetheless, years of friendship and working together had formed their brains into one veritable machine and the two of them seemed to know what one another was thinking.

And though Nancy couldn't currently recall the wonderful dynamic that comprised their friendship he knew that if _anyone_ could say something that would land where it needed to, it would be Max. So Dave had listened through the partly open door to the entire conversation…telling himself that he _could_ eavesdrop if he wished because this was _his_ house. He did however stay hidden behind the wall so she wouldn't catch him in the act.

Dave Batista heard Max relate the story of his Mr. Blankee and as usual, though completely unorthodox, his story had managed to fit the circumstance exactly. Max had even told her the truth about what a waste her fear and hesitation was, but the thing that had broken Dave's heart, the thing that had annihilated his feelings, was her confession that she truly felt as if she didn't fit in. He'd tried, hadn't he? He thought he had…he'd told her at every turn about the things that—There was the problem right in front of him! He had been _verbally_ hammering her place of importance into her head every chance he got, and because she couldn't remember…she had been forced to take his word for it…and she didn't trust him, so she couldn't possibly have believed him. It would do no good to tell her…he had to show her.

He slipped quietly away from the door and sat down in the dining chair, pretending he had been there the entire time, so that she wouldn't suspect that he'd been listening. Nancy finally came back inside and he saw her shiver slightly as she headed for the stairs. Once she was out of sight, he took the liberty of heading the opposite direction…to his office where he would make his plan to show her just what he knew she needed to know.

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Audrey poked her head around the corner of her father's master bedroom. Her eyes were sore in the corners from wiping the tears on her sweater sleeves and she was still sad about the yelling, because she didn't like yelling…but she wouldn't cry, because Houdini wouldn't cry and David Blaine wouldn't cry, neither would Criss Angel cry…no way…because magicians never cried, even when their tricks didn't work.

She stepped slowly and silently into the room, one foot in front of the other tip-toeing across the floor, until she reached the side of the bed, where her stepmother was laying. "Are you asleep?" She whispered, unsure whether she should be waking her up…she saw Nancy's eyes open.

"Nope, just resting my eyes." Nancy grinned and yawned.

"I'm gonna get up here." Audrey announced without asking and climbed onto the massive bed, snuggling up close to Nancy, careful not to knock the baby with her knees.

Nancy smiled, staring at Audrey face to face. It felt good to have someone snuggling up close…not expecting anything, just there for comfort.

"It's scary, huh?" Audrey asked after a long interval of silence. "Not remembering stuff?"

"Yeah, it is." Nancy answered, seeing the girl's red-rimmed eyes. She must have been crying.

Audrey yawned. "I'm gonna take a nap in here with you." She told her stepmother without asking for permission. "Just don't hog the covers."

Nancy brushed Audrey's feathery bangs out of her face and told her. "That's fine…Just don't put your cold feet on me."

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Dave waited to approach her until he'd seen that she had risen from her nap and eaten some of the leftovers. After she finished, she seated herself in the living room and picked up the remote that's when he approached her from behind.

"Could I bother you for a minute?" He asked, holding in his hands the things he'd collected to show her.

Nancy nodded and laid the remote on the sofa beside her.

He positioned himself on the other side of her and began to lay out his cache of memorabilia before her. "I wanted you to see these." He lifted his gaze and noted that she appeared to be interested in what he'd brought.

Nancy tucked her legs up underneath her, straightened the shirt that was slipping up slightly, showing the tiniest expanse of flesh on her belly and waited. "Did you want me to have a look and then come to you if I have questions?" She asked evenly.

"No." He answered and then let out a laugh. "I don't want to risk being caught off guard and another shirt being ruined." His thoughts were settling on the last time he'd let her ask an off the cuff question.

She smiled and nodded and though her responding laugh was brief, It was genuine reminding him of how much he had missed that sound. "I think whiskey comes out of linen." She told him.

"Well, we'll find out won't we?" Dave answered, and then motioning to his possessions, he explained. "I thought I could just sit with you and tell you about what I have, if that's okay."

"Sure." She agreed, her nose catching wind of something masculine. He smelled nice from only a few feet away, something between a hot sweetness and a warm spice, but then again he'd smelled nice the entire time she could remember him. It was a mystery why it seemed so concentrated just now, hitting her senses dead-on.

Nancy was eager to see what he was holding and yet hesitant, knowing that what he wanted to show her might consign her to a role she couldn't remember and wouldn't be able to fill. But despite her doubts and fears, she owed it to him just to try, to give it some effort and so she waited.

Dave pulled the first book off of the stack and then set aside a DVD disc. He handed her the book, which was a photo album covered in a deep brown suede fabric. He nodded, telling her she could open it.

"You put this album together." He told her, as she flipped the cover open to the very first page.

Her fingers grazed the rough paper that comprised the scrapbook. She presumed it must have been recycled paper and so she wondered if she might have been environmentally conscious…another silly mystery. "Mementos?" a quizzical look crossed her face. "Looks like a resignation."

"It was yours." He told her, his face softening with the memory. "Right before we decided to get serious about our relationship, we had a rough patch…I was planning on resigning so that I could be with _you_, but you ended up taking a transfer from RAW to Smackdown. I had no idea you had _also_ been planning to resign before you got the transfer. So…long story short…you carried that thing around in your purse for a couple of weeks and then kept it to remind you." He pointed to the next page. "These were tickets to the symphony that we never got to see, because the limo we were in blew a tire and we were stuck out in the middle of nowhere."

"Why would I have kept those?" She asked, running a narrow finger along the bottom edge of one of the thin, unblemished tickets.

"I guess because that's the night we decided that we should either move forward or move on. We decided we should try to live together. And since we had two hours in the back of that limo until the wrecker came, we had a lot of time to discuss things. You moved in a week later in between tours."

She nodded and then turned the page to see a picture of herself with Max. Both he and she were sitting at a table in a restaurant, drinking from an impossibly large cocktail glass and both were wearing plastic pirate hats. "I can only imagine." She rolled her eyes.

"Your birthday." Dave told her, "Two years ago…we were on the road."

"Where were you?" She didn't know why she wanted to know, it just seemed like he should have been there.

"I was behind the camera." He explained, his voice rumbling deeply and smoothly as he spoke. "I may not have been in the picture, but you and I had fun with the pirate hats later."

Nancy blushed and averted her eyes when she determined that his statement held a distinctly intimate insinuation. "And this one?" She pointed to a picture of his profile as he stood tall and oblivious in black Prada, loading luggage into a trunk.

He leaned in closer and assessed "I think that's just one you snapped when I didn't know about it." He turned another page.

"What's _that_?" Nancy asked, looking at a pink dismissal sheet from the hospital. It had been tacked onto the page next to a picture of a ring on a finger that she guessed was her own, and a random scribble of a time and date on a post-it note was tacked on the page below it.

Dave smiled and she watched the change of expression on his face, it told her he must be thinking of something warm. "Well, that's just the start of the good stuff." He told her and touched the pink paper. "It's a good example of how things _never_ go the way you planned, but then they come out better than you hoped."

He cleared his throat and then began. "I took the girls to pick out your ring, weeks in advance…and of course Audrey wanted the biggest, gaudiest ring in the case." He grinned, holding his fingers up in a claw indicating the size of a ring. "Not that I wouldn't have bought you the biggest one, but Vanessa was really drawn to _this_ one because it's vintage and you love that sort of thing." He continued as he shifted his position on the sofa, getting more comfortable . "I had this whole idea to surprise you with dinner after Audrey's soccer game, where the maitre de would end up bringing your ring out in your dessert. The girls were helping me sneak around to plan it…you can imagine how hard that was for Audrey." He laughed as he remembered how he'd put as much effort into coaching his youngest daughter into secrecy as he had put into the original plan itself.

Nancy smiled and laughed. "I can imagine."

"Anyway, I was in town between shows…three days is _all_ I had…that was the perfect time…so we went to the game and in the final three minutes of the last half, Audrey sprained her ankle, turned it somehow…" He said gesturing with his hand. "Of course we ended up carrying her off the field and rushing her to the emergency room…I was secretly praying that it wasn't a bad injury because I had made those reservations and we only had about an hour to get there." He pointed to the date and time on the yellow post it note where he had originally scribbled the reservation and then leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I was filling out the dismissal paperwork and Vanessa had to help me remember half of the things I was supposed to write. I couldn't remember the information because I was panicked that we wouldn't make the dinner."

"I have a hard time imagining you in a state of panic." Nancy told him and she meant it. He seemed so composed and controlled, and to hear him admit that he had been worried made him seem that much more human. As he told her the story, the hard lines and edges of his countenance softened markedly and the occasional smile or laugh, caused his deep brown eyes to sparkle. It wasn't hard to see why women would find him attractive…why she found him attractive.

"My hands were shaking so bad I could barely sign my own name." Dave chuckled. "You were back in the room with Audrey and she was bawling, because she was just _sure_ she had ruined the whole thing, only she was sworn to secrecy, so when you tried to get her to tell you why she was crying, all she would say was that she ruined dinner." He raised an eyebrow. "And since you had no idea what had been planned, you were completely confused and so you kept trying to tell her it was okay and that we could still go find somewhere to eat, but she was just bawling harder…I was outside of the room, listening…fingers crossed…_praying_ she didn't give it away and then I peeked behind the curtain and saw you climb up on that tiny little bed beside her and hold her…" His voice seemed softer and his smile made his eyes dance. "You were telling her that she didn't ruin dinner, that you would take her home and send me for movies and pizza…you were promising her the world, and she just had her face against your neck blubbering and her little arms were just wrapped around your neck." He tried awkwardly to gesture. "I saw you there up on that skinny little bed with my little girl and something just told me that _this_ was the time, that I should just do it _right_ then." Dave ran his hand over his head and scratched the nape of his neck. "I proposed to you over the top of Audrey's sprained ankle." He laughed remembering. "Audrey was already crying and then you started crying, Vanessa was sobbing and then the nurses that were close enough to see what was going on, started crying…I was surrounded by a bunch of big bawl-babies." He shook his head still holding the pleasant expression.

"Did _you_ cry?" Nancy asked gently.

Dave locked gazes with his wife and answered. "Well, you know I plead the 5th."

For a moment, the two of them were silent and she felt a sudden emotional pressure…a soft and pleasant weight settling on her during the quiet. On the verge of familiarity, Nancy held her tongue…she just knew that she'd felt this way before…she was sure she'd had this emotional pitching in her stomach, the slight heat pooling in her core. And when his eyes settled on her, sharply, intensely, she was alarmed by the fact that her pulse increased…his gaze may as well have been an intimate touch.

"It's a beautiful ring." Nancy told him quickly breaking the gaze as she pointed to the picture of the ring on her hand, wondering if she had somehow lost it in the wreck. "Did I lose it?"

"It's in the top drawer of your bureau." He said after clearing the muddled canvas of his mind that had been drifting dangerously into sensuous waters. The thought that she might again want to wear the beautiful wedding ring gave buoyancy to his pursuit.

Nancy nodded acknowledging his revelation and the she turned to the next page in the book. "Tell me about these." She asked, again breathing in the scent of him as he leaned over and pointed to the pictures. He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his arm as he reached over her knee to touch the photo.

"This was you, right before our wedding." He said, pointing to a candid taken of her in a very simple and soft gown in a shimmering champagne silk with spaghetti straps. The iridescent fabric hugged her figure gently down to the knees, and then flared gracefully, trailing only slightly behind her in the sand. She was standing on the beach holding a bouquet in one hand as the other delicately tucked a curl behind one ear. Nancy saw that she was obviously looking to the advice of someone off camera when the shot was taken. The early evening wind blew her amber curls out behind her in the photo and sent the waves in the distance into a glittering dance as the sun was setting. The next picture showed her hugging Max and planting a very forcible kiss on his cheek, his eyes were squinted tightly shut and his nose was wrinkled up above a wide smile.

"He walked you down the aisle." Dave told her.

The following photo showed Audrey making a cross-eyed face at the camera man, while Vanessa standing behind her was composed and waiting, oblivious of her baby sister's antics.

Out of the many pictures detailing their wedding, the one that caught her eye, the one that gave her an intensely warm and recognizable feeling was one where she stood on bare toes in the sand whispering into her husband's ear. She was holding her bouquet nonchalantly down to one side while her other hand shielded what she must have been telling him. The sky was dusky behind the pair of newlyweds and the wind had her dress fluttering gently upward, showing the skin of her calves, but what made her most curious was the smile on his face in the pictured as he listened to her.

"What about this one." She asked touching the photo and watching the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiled.

"Oh…_that_ one is probably one of my favorites." He nodded and explained. "Neither of us even knew that the photographer had taken it, until we got the pictures back…it was right after our wedding, when everyone had already headed into the cabana for the reception…we sort of lagged behind." He explained to her how the picture had been so appealing that they had both agreed to use that one for the socialite section of the paper when approached by the reporter from the fashion guild.

"You seem really happy." She remarked at the smile on his face in the photo, and the casual stance of his body. One muscular arm was swept around her waist and he seemed to be pulling her closer while the other was nonchalantly holding her shoes by the straps.

"If you knew what you had just been whispering to me, then you'd _know_ why I was grinning." He told her, with a roguish smirk.

At the risk of blushing furiously, Nancy changed the subject. "Where was this…um, our wedding?"

"Puerto Rico." He told her, smiling as his mind dabbled in thoughts of their very first time there. So much had happened the very first time they'd been there together…he'd saved her from disaster twice, once by the Jacuzzi and once in the ring. He'd had to dodge prying Divas in order to be with her…he'd commandeered her attention and lost his heart. There was no doubting that he'd never forget that experience.

"That was the beach behind the cabana where we, uh…made love for the first time." He saw her eyes flit from the page to his face and then back to the page and he was laughing on the inside. Dave would almost be willing to wager that she was curious about that aspect of their relationship, at the very least.

"_Oh_." She responded and cleared her throat. "This?" She asked turning the page to find a business card tacked to the page with her name on it and beside the card, as well as on the next page were pictures of her with all sorts of people she couldn't recognize at events she didn't remember.

"You and Stephanie McMahon." He pointed to one picture. "She's the biggest proponent for your 'Design Style'" he made quotations with his fingers. "You and Marilyn Miglin…she usually does cosmetics but now because of you she does a line of clothing for teenagers." He pointed to another. "This is you at the Daytime Emmy Awards…and I have _no_ idea who in the hell all these people are, except him, Drake Hodgsten from Days of Our Lives, and him, Brian Datillo, same show…seeing that picture gave me visions of a double clothesline involving the two of them." He admitted, and then seeing her look of confusion, he explained. "I wanted to put them both in a wrestling move, but I was rubbing elbows with Susan Lucci and so it had to wait…" he teased. "Both of them were gone by the time I got around to it…I'm sure they got wind of how dangerous I am." He flexed a massive bicep and then laughed at his own joke.

"You mean you were jealous?" It wasn't important that she knew, but the fact that he obviously _had_ been flattered her.

"You did a line for 'Days' last year." He told her and winked. Dave refused to admit in certain terms that he had indeed felt a stab of jealousy, when he'd seen her smiling and talking and then posing for a photo with the two male soap stars. Let her think he was indifferent one minute and envious the next…it played right along with his intentions.

"Wow." She mused as Dave continued to rifle through the pictures and awarded her with explanations. It was almost surreal to hear her husband tell her of all the important people she knew, even though she had no recollection of them. He told her of how good she was at her chosen profession, how amazed he was by her…it felt like being embraced by a soft, warm wind…and she liked it.

The next page was filled with mementos that told her of the revelation of her pregnancy…appointment cards, sonogram pictures, well wishes from friends. At least she assumed _they_ were friends…a picture colored by Audrey detailing a new baby with a very large head, something Nancy hoped wasn't prophecy.

"I have to ask another…question." Nancy hesitated and nibbled the corner of her lower lip.

"Well since I'm not in possession of a beverage, I think we're safe." He joked. "Go ahead."

"Did we mean…to, um." Nancy began. "Was _he_ something that we both…" She grazed her stomach with a hand and stopped unsure of how she should ask if her pregnancy had been planned, or if it even mattered.

"Are you asking if we knew what we were doing?" Dave smiled and inquired. But without waiting for her to respond he continued. "It sure _felt_ like we knew what we were doing…I mean, _I_ knew _exactly_ what I was doing…" He bit his lower lip and then released it. "We've been doing that very thing for a long time." His statement had the effect of a caress _'And now you're not doing anything.'_ His inner voice taunted.

A very revealing shade of scarlet seeped from her chest to her face, as the insinuation of his comment hit home. "Does everything always roll around to sex, with you?" She asked in mild exasperation and instantly realized that she'd left herself open for another of his sensuous jabs.

"Well I certainly hope it wouldn't roll around to sex with someone _other_ than me." He remarked with a mildly amused expression. "But in answer to your questions, yes, things do usually roll around to sex and yes, with regard to _him_…there was planning and forethought, sort of." He looked at her belly, round and prominent barely concealed by the light blue cami top as she sat cross-legged on the sofa.

Her face was aflame with embarrassment and she blew a lock of hair from her forehead. "Sort of?"

"We didn't make a date to make a baby." He told her. "We just sort of said if it happens, it happens…and we both chose not to be cautious so that it _would_ happen."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his explanation, then she closed the book. "The videos? What are they about?"

He smiled, more excited. "One is my Birthday and the other is when Vanessa got her license."

Eager to watch, Nancy settled herself back onto the couch, adjusting her legs and splaying her hand on her belly, secretly thankful that the pictures of her pre-pregnancy condition showed that she had been in good shape…She could see that she had gained very little weight but she wasn't worried because her follow-up had told her that the baby was perfectly healthy. And now she sat there watching from behind as her husband readied the disc for viewing, noticing the smooth fluid way in which he moved, the roll of his muscles even through the fabric of his shirt as his back was turned to her…she willed herself to stop staring, but she couldn't.

Something about the familiarity of his physique held her attention and made her wonder…had she enjoyed it when he kissed her? Not just the little peck he'd stolen last night…but a true kiss. Surely in the past they had been intimate, but had they been passionate? Had he memorized every facet of her? Had her lips been on the flesh of his neck and chest memorizing everything about him? And his hands? Those massive, yet gentle hands…had they brought to life some heated sensory in her? _'Ohhhhh!'_ her inner voice screamed out in protest against her, when she suddenly determined not to think about him. _'What does it hurt to indulge in thoughts of him? As long as he has no clue what you're thinking.'_ The voice inside tempted. She cleared her throat and looked away, frustrated that her mind was wandering to places it had no business going. _'Who says you have no business imagining him? He's married to you, isn't he?'_ The inner voice reminded her.

"Okay, here we go." He sat back again beside her, noticing that she seemed to be a bit more flushed than she should. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah I'm fine." She lied…she wasn't fine…she was fighting to stop thinking about what she knew of him and what was still yet uncharted territory. She turned her gaze to the television and listened as a dark screen accompanied by his voice gave way to a blurry image of his face in the camera lens.

… "Are you sure she can't see this thing?" Dave asked, tapping the lens and then backing away.

"I promise. It's hidden really well." Nancy heard herself reassure him and then as he backed away she caught a glimpse of herself and could see that she was fidgeting madly with a silver cuff bracelet on her wrist.

"Are you positive?" He said fiddling again with some unknown material around the outer peripheral of the lens. "Because I can see it."

Nancy laughed and tugged his hand, ushering him away from the view of the lens. "You only see it, because you know it's there." Nancy watched herself as she laced her fingers through her husband's. "She's not even gonna suspect there's a camera in there."

"You're awfully clever at this." Dave asked in a low and mysterious voice, placing his face mere inches from his wife's. "Have you been hiding cameras in other places?" Even though it was a home movie, there was no confusion in his tone as to what he was hinting toward, and then to her horror, she watched herself as she responded. "I'll never tell." And then let her lips linger against his for a few long seconds.

And then the entire view was blocked by a huge blurry blob, complete with a shrill war cry. "Aaaiiieeee!" rumbled loudly through the television speakers and then repeated once more by the blob. Suddenly the blurriness subsided, revealing Audrey.

"Audrey! Get away from that!" Dave said quickly and firmly. "Come stand over here and don't blab…it's a secret."

Audrey laughed and made one more heinously threatening face into the lens and then retreated out of the camera's view.

"That's Angie." Nancy heard herself say and she watched both herself and her husband school their expressions on the film.

"Don't laugh." She firmly instructed her husband. "Or she'll know something's up."

"I'm trying." He admitted and then took a deep breath. "Look casual." He told his wife and youngest daughter, just before the front door flew open.

In swept Vanessa, with a squeal of excitement, holding the paper certificate… proof that she had finally transitioned to not only a sixteen year old, but from a passenger to a legal driver as well. "I passed! I passed!" She said in a sing-song voice. "Eat your heart out…O ye of little faith!"

"Good job." Dave said, in a lackluster voice and turned away pretending that he needed to make a call on his cell phone. "Can you gimme a minute?"

"That's great." Nancy saw that she was only slightly more enthused, as she leaned in for a quick hug and then turning away from Vanessa, she announced to Audrey that she should help with the laundry.

Vanessa's face a mask of confusion, cut like a knife even through the television screen. "Well, since I got it…can I take your car down the block to Meredith's?" She held up the certificate toward her father as if to emphasize that she indeed was capable.

"No, not my car, baby." He said dismissively, holding up his hand as if to ask for silence while he was on his call.

Visibly rebuffed, Nancy could see that Vanessa's shoulders slumped slightly. "What about yours?" She asked Nancy timidly, pasting on a bright smile and again showing off the certificate.

Nancy watched as she told her stepdaughter, No. "I don't know Vanessa, that's a fifty thousand dollar truck." She shook her head. "I think its best that you don't."

Vanessa wasn't indignant or disrespectful, but the look of utter disappointment on her face was heartrending. "It's just one block…" She supplied. "You let me before when I had my permit."

"We'll that was when I was in the car _with_ you." Nancy explained. "You're not taking my truck out by yourself…"

Vanessa was near tears, but she nodded and folded the certificate up, sliding it into her back pocket.

Then Nancy saw herself speak as Vanessa had turned to walk away and in a harsh voice she ordered. "Don't be a cry baby about it Vanessa." Her stepdaughter turned with widened eyes as if to defend the fact that she hadn't been being a baby. "If you wanna go somewhere tonight, you're just gonna have to take your own car." The last comment from Nancy's mouth was still calloused and she was mortified by her own hateful behavior, captured on film.

Vanessa held her hands out to her sides, opened her mouth and in a quivering voice reminded her stepmother. "I don't have my own…_car_?" a sudden hopefulness entered the young woman's eyes when she realized what had been said and she turned hesitantly toward her father.

Dave dug through his front pant's pocket after hanging up the 'ghost call', and lifted in his hand two keys suspended from a silver key ring. Any words that might have been spoken were drowned out by the sound of a teenaged scream. Nancy watched as Vanessa hopped around as if her legs were on springs. She embraced her father, unable to stop jumping long enough to take the keys…she then hopped, screaming and weeping toward her much shorter stepmother and then, smiling, laughing and crying all at the same time, she told Nancy. "Oh my God! You are the biggest stinkin' liar!!!" She embraced her stepmother, still hopping.

"It was so hard for me to be mean about it." Nancy heard herself say as she held Vanessa's hands, trying to abate some of the bounce. "Please, just be _very_ careful."

More elation and exclamation ensued, with the melee ending as Dave took his oldest daughter into the garage to show her the new red Honda Civic that they'd bought for her…

"My goodness." Nancy said softly as he paused the video. "She went nuts over that."

"She does that frequently." He laughed. "Whenever she gets something she really wants…even though she's not spoiled…she still screams like that."

A break in the sequence opened the way for the next occasion on film, which happened to be Dave's birthday. It wasn't a large crowded party as she might have thought, but rather a quick family celebration. He explained to her that being in between venues made it hard to plan things, but that the larger celebration had taken place at a later date.

…She watched as she set the camera up in the corner of the kitchen and instructed her stepdaughters as to where they should stand. The trio appeared to be planning something a bit devious, for she noticed that there could be heard a whole lot of 'Shushing' and rapid hand signaling as he came into view. Dave stopped in front of a large sheet-cake that sat proudly on the island.

"This is nice." Dave said, leaning over to get a good look at the caricature of his body on the cake…a highly distorted and comical version of himself with a championship belt around his waist. "Why is my head so big?" he asked with a smile, as he dipped one finger along the side, pulling a large dab of creamy cocoa frosting with it.

"Cuz it's a 'prickaso'" Audrey told him sighing and shaking her head as if he should have known.

"_Picasso_." Vanessa corrected. "But not exactly."

"Well I love it." He said licking the frosting off of his finger. "So, what did you buy me?" He asked holding his hands out to the side as if he'd been waiting for a gift all day.

"You don't get nothing, Daddy!" Audrey told him, her eyes squinting as if she had some underlying deviant plan.

"I didn't have a chance to get you something." Nancy heard herself say. "I thought you were coming home Monday instead of today, _sorry_." Her voice was soft and suitably remorseful.

His expression seemed doubtful, but he nodded and then asked innocently. "Nothing at all?"

"Sorry." Nancy said again, crooking her lip to a repentant pout.

He cleared his throat, and nodded once more. "Well, I can name something I'd like." He told her in a low voice.

Sweeping his finger through the frosting a second time, he held it up in front of his face as if trying to decide whether he should eat it or observe it.

"We can always go pick up something for you tomorrow." Nancy heard herself say.

Again Dave was largely silent as he nodded and then turned to face his wife. He raked the frosting covered finger straight down the bridge of her nose, leaving a trail of chocolate from between her brows to the very pert tip. He laughed when he heard her gasp, and then leaning in he kissed her mouth, telling her that he didn't need a gift if he had his girls. It was incredibly endearing, but the commotion behind him caught her attention.

The camera angle captured him as he stood up straight after the kiss, ready to retrieve a towel for his wife's nose. His back was turned to his daughters and he was unable to see the two girls as they silently hefted the cake, one daughter on each end.

"Daddy?" Vanessa said softly getting his attention, and Nancy watched herself scoot out of the way, and her husband turned just as both girls ran full force into their father with the cake.

The brunt of the sugary sweet blow slammed into his chest and stomach, sending a mound of cake and frosting flying upward into his face. The room fell silent, aside from a few scattered giggles and the random 'plop' of frosting to the floor as the massive man, the victim of the attack stood with both arms out, the entire front of his huge body covered in chocolate frosting. Nancy watched the video as a few nervous seconds ticked by, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the twitch of muscle as he flexed and then heard the pillar crumbling roar as it exploded from his mouth. The intimidating display sent both of his little girls giggling and screeching and scattering out of his arm's reach as he bellowed.

"You little traitors!!" He roared as he turned from left to right, noticing that his daughters were far from his reach. "You would turn on your own Father?!!" Another growl laced with a laugh that sent them into another fit of squealing laughter…and then he turned on…_her_. He was facing the camera, since Nancy's back was to the lens, and even through the mask of chocolate she could see the devilish gleam in his eyes…it made her throb in places she hadn't been thinking about. He lifted one muscular arm and the tip of his finger pointed directly at her. "And _You_…" his voice was deep and dangerous, as he stepped closer.

She watched herself laugh and try to escape, but she clipped her hip on the corner of the island and it slowed her just enough for him to snatch her back by the arm.

"Oh, damn…" She cursed, realizing that she wasn't likely to get away anytime soon. "Dave…y-you can't…" She reasoned, holding up a hand in surrender. "This is a white shirt."

"_You_ are in so much trouble." He informed her, a devious grin curling his chocolate mouth as he stalked her sideways. She could see that she was trying to sidle out of the way, but was being hindered by his movements.

"If you get that on me…" She threatened, mustering every ounce of bravery. "I-I…You won't get your present." She jutted her chin out and announced with firmness.

"You're bluffing." Chocolately Dave told her. "And the real mystery is whether it's worth it to let you go."

The chorus of tittering behind him didn't dissuade him from his pursuit, and he lashed out, tugging Nancy forward, slamming the front of her body against his and sweeping his mouth down on hers to swallow her squeal of protest, as the chocolate was transferred from his body to hers.

Nancy felt a smile work it's way onto her face as she watched the interaction on the film, she laughed when she saw herself giggle and pull away from her chocolate covered attacker, but only for a moment until he was telling her how good the cake was and threatening her with torture if she didn't reveal where she'd hidden his gift. She watched as he whispered something in her ear and then snaked one cocoa covered hand out to turn off the camera…

"Unfortunately the girls were still there for another hour or else I would have been glad to finish sharing my cake with you right there." His words were rich, intense with sensation, hinting at the raw sexual desire he was feeling…he could almost look at her now and forget that she could not remember that day…he could nearly believe that she had every precious recollection of the party, the cake, the gift and once his daughters had gone back to their mother's…the shower they'd taken with each other to remove the chocolate.

Nancy rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to take a stroll down memory lane and you're dragging me right down into the gutter with you." She told him.

"Sorry." His lips were still smiling and the way her jade eyes narrowed, hinted at a playful nature in her. It was so appealing and tugged so fully at his desire for her that he could feel himself harden at the mere reminder of times in the past when he'd seen her have that same look on her face. He watched her nod, accepting his apology and then he saw a yawn slip past her lips.

She smiled and stretched, the action causing the cami to slip up slightly over her belly again, and she laughed, gently tugging it down.

"Not much longer." He told her and without forethought he grazed his hand over the roundness of her belly and then, finding an appendage, he told her. "I'll bet that's a knee."

The presence of his hand caused her heart to beat faster and her face to flush. "Or an elbow." She supplied, softly feeling the heat radiate from where his hand made contact.

Nancy hadn't backed away, nor had she pushed his hand away, and it gave him hope that before long she would be receptive to more than just his curiosity about his child. With his hand still on her stomach, he lifted his eyes and their gazes locked and held. By God in Heaven he wanted to make love to her…he wanted to taste the flesh of her neck, to bury his face in those satin curls and breathe in the sweet scent of her…he wanted to have what he had before fate had snatched it away. "You're tired." He stated, matter-of-factly, restraining himself…holding back from what he wanted to do.

The spell broken, Nancy nodded, her mouth suddenly dry, her heart racing like a badly timed transmission. "A little." Her voice was a mere whisper when she answered. And as much as she believed that they had made true headway tonight with the discovery of her past and her place in his life, she still had the niggling feeling in the back of her brain that something was not right.

That key…the cold, cursed piece of metal that had been one of the very first revelations of who she was…constantly in the back of her mind, haunting her…it was tethered to her like a bad credit report and she felt a driving need to ask him about it.

"Dave?" She asked, noticing that his huge hand was still on her stomach, lightly grazing the flesh as his gaze still held hers.

"Hmmm?" His mind seemed to be focused so intently on something, something she could not determine, such that it lent a hard, sharp edge to his expression…it was as if he was set on achieving an unknown goal…she could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

It was then that she lost her nerve. They were gaining ground…or something like it, and the discovery that she had been hiding something from him since her return from the hospital might force things into a stalemate. Nancy couldn't justify telling him about the key until she knew why she had it in the first place.

"This was very nice…thank you." She cleared her throat and smiled, glad that she'd allowed herself a short respite from seclusion, otherwise she might have kept on thinking that she was a fifth wheel.

"You're welcome." He told her, reluctantly pulling his hand away, but standing and offering her a hand so she could get to her feet. "Two hours of reverie is enough to make anyone tired." Once she stood he offered to help her to bed, but she told him she'd be fine and headed toward the staircase.

He watched her walk away, but just as she reached the bottom step, he noticed that she turned and stood still…one hand on her lower back and the other on the newel post. She seemed to have something she wanted to say, but there was conflict in her expression until finally she faced him with a knitted brow and said softly. "I really appreciate what you did."

Did she have to look so helpless, so vulnerable? Did she have to be the picture perfect image of everything he wanted but temporarily could not have? Had she no idea, how even her simple acceptance of him in this miniscule way all of a sudden destroyed him?

He knew he didn't have to explain why he had done it, but he chose to. Perhaps it was based on his desire to win her over…convenient, but not likely. Had he done it for selfish reasons? No…if he searched his heart he could pin it down…the reason he'd dug through her bureau for the things that she'd hidden in there, things she'd considered priceless before she'd forgotten they existed…The book…the videos. He'd done it for her…because she'd felt as if she had _no_ place in her own life…he'd done it because he couldn't imagine her not knowing if she held some significance, some importance to someone other than the unborn baby boy whose life she was sustaining.

And so he _would_ tell her…why he had done it…the words were out of his mouth before he could snatch them back. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that you fit in…here."

Her face went from conflicted to an assured softness he hadn't seen in days and then she nodded, through a broken smile and told him. "Good night." Her words floated like feathers, soft and airy…no malice, no weighty conviction or emotional inflection…just soft, simple, innocent acceptance. Dave watched his wife walk up the stairs, her hair in long curls down her back and the trudge that he'd seen earlier after her confrontation with Vanessa was gone, replace by a confident stride.


	15. Chapter 14

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 14

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"There is no disguise which can hide love for long where it exists, or simulate it where it does not."

La Rochefoucauld

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"Oh, _God_…that was absolutely fantastic." The words literally dripped from Barren's lips as she let out a languid sigh and closed her eyes in satiated bliss.

Randy nodded his agreement and with a lazy smile that told of his satisfaction he replied. "I never knew it could be done like that." The tone of his voice spoke of fulfillment beyond measure.

Stretching like a lethargic cat, Barren laughed softly, her arms over her head she told him. "It's all in the preparations, Randy…that's what makes it melt in your mouth."

He shook his head and submitted. "Well I know that beers and wines do a number as a marinade, but Mad Dog 20/20? Who knew a five-dollar, grape flavored, malt liquor would have worked so well." He leaned back in the dining room chair causing it to tip up precariously on both back legs and pushed the plate away from himself, thoroughly appeased with the tender steak he'd just devoured.

"Now you'll have everyone of your high-society buddies thinking you spent a fortune on marinades, you can even fib and tell them it's an ancient family recipe…no one will ever know it's a ten minute, last ditch effort to tenderize." Barren also leaned back in her chair though not to the point of tipping and holding her wine glass in her palm, she smiled at Randy over the rim.

"I don't know about all of that, but I think I just put on _ten_ pounds." He ran his hand over his flatter than flat abs and let out a groan.

Barren rolled her grey eyes. "Oh, yeah…it definitely shows." Randy Orton was the absolute epitome of athletic perfection and not even ten pounds would have diminished the chiseled body that God had blessed him with. "So then I guess dessert would be out of the question, right?"

He moaned at the mere thought of more food. "_No_ dessert, please." He held one hand up. "You're a fabulous cook but I don't think anything else will fit in here." He once again patted his flat stomach.

"That was definitely a great dinner…" Barren said. "The food and the company."

Randy smiled and nodded. "Well I can't help you much in the area of food, because I'm a terrible cook, but I'm pretty good company when I choose to be."

"Surely you're not that bad of a cook." Barren stacked her cutlery on the edge of her plate and swept a tiny row of crumbs into one hand and onto the plate.

"Well not if you count cereal and fruit salad, and anything else that doesn't require heating or extensive forethought." He announced with a good-natured chuckle. "I am a firm believer that people who lack talent in a certain area should _never_ pretend that they're able to do something they can't." his finger wagged in affirmation.

Barren laughed. "I fully agree."

"Dave and his wife have the same dilemma…" He told her. "He's a wonderful cook, and she can't even make coffee…whereas she's a great seamstress and designer, and he can't even sew on a button…but neither of them pretend they can do what they can't."

"Well now that she can't remember she's a bad cook, she might just crank out a few wonderful dishes…ya never know." Barren arched one brow.

"Not likely…" Randy said laughing. "She was born with a case of complete culinary ineptitude."

"I'm gonna tell her you said that." Barren warned, laughing softly and then motioned for Randy to hand over his wine glass so she could refill it for him.

"I think you can find that in every relationship, if you look hard enough." Randy received the wine as she handed it to him. "My Mom and Dad are the same way." He reflected. "He's a green thumb…could make anything grow…He could plant two broomsticks in the ground and in a month you'd have a grove of fruit trees." He smiled, thinking of his rough around the edges, wrestler father, who had a penchant for all things green. "And though my mom could never grow a single thing and would likely kill whatever plant she got her hands on, she has the best eye for color and balance…she's been an interior designer for years."

"You miss your family." It wasn't a question, simply Barren's blatant observation.

"I do." His nod was sharp, but his eyes softened to reflect that he might be emotional on the subject. But just as soon as the sentiment had surfaced, it fled…chased away by Randy's pride. "And you miss yours." He announced.

Barren thought before speaking, upon how much more she should reveal…how far she should let Randy in. After one long swallow of her wine, she finally spoke "I've no true hope of reuniting with my family." And with a father in prison, a mother deported back to the shores of Ireland…and Duncan…well she was just as likely to be alone forever. And then there was Owen…he would surely be in Ontario by now…over the Canadian border and safe from the clutches of Congressman McCaughey's lackeys, but there were no guarantees that she would see _him_ again? He could very well be dead, and because she had no way of contacting him by letter or by phone without the risk of her inquiry being intercepted, she had to wait. Barren was certain that the plan they had concocted to keep in touch with one another would work, but she would be forced to employ that plan at a later time.

"Well you can look at me as your new family for now." Randy lifted his glass in a toast. "Have you given anymore thought to sticking around for awhile?"

Barren had been dreading that question…the question and the rephrasing of it; and the hinting toward it…but she still couldn't put a finger on why the thought of cohabitating as friends unnerved her so. He wasn't unpleasant, nor was he boring. Three days solid in his company and she'd laughed more than she could remember having done so in years. He was considerate and yet flirtatious, intrepid and childlike all in the same breathe. Randy Orton was an exciting entrée of contradictions and a delightful dish of masculinity…how was she ever going to keep her wits about her…keep her eye on the goal with him tempting her around every curve? And surely he hadn't meant to be so alluring, Tall and muscular, but lean and cat-like, with his jaw a bit too strong for her taste, but she still found, to her dismay that she wished to glide her fingertips across it and touch the cleft in his chin. His deep eyes were so mysterious and changeable that she could drown in them. His hair was dark and glossy, disheveled, appearing as though he had let it grow out past what he normally would have considered clean-cut. And so she could understand why the question unnerved her…it did so because she was attracted to Randy.

"Are you in there?" He prompted her softly and a light roll of laughter escaped him when she snapped to attention.

"What exactly is it that you want out of this, Randy?" Her question, though legitimate in her own eyes, caused the slightly playful mood to come to a screeching halt.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Randy arched his head and tucked his lower lip beneath his teeth. He was slightly hurt at the thought that she might feel he had ulterior motives, but then again she had every right to feel that way if he took into account the minimal knowledge she had of him. "Are you thinking that I'm trying to get you in bed?"

The heat surrounding her rose measurably in seconds. So much so that she could have sworn the thermostat was malfunctioning. "_No_!" She denied.

"Sure sounds like that to me." He countered defensively. "You've been taggin' along behind me for three days and I haven't compromised your precious chastity _yet_…so you should feel safe enough to know that's not what I was after."

Barren's face contorted with her apparent irritation. "Oh, pleeeease…don't flatter yourself." She frowned and slid her half empty wine glass forward, the base screeching lightly on the rustic top of the dining table.

Randy tilted his head back and gave reign to a deep roll of laughter. "Flatter myself? Come on Barren, really…" He shook his head as if he'd never heard something so unbelievable. "I don't have to resort to flattery, it's a point of fact. I can absolutely get laid in any given city on just about every night of the week."

"What a brilliant mantra…your mother would be proud."

"Seriously." He pointed one finger at his chest and informed. "I could walk into a grocery store dressed in drag and be approached by ten women…ten that would know me by sight! Know who I was and know exactly what I do! Ten women to every _one_ guy that would approach you out of simple curiosity not even knowing your name." He bragged, holding up ten fingers and then alternating to one.

She stood, gracing him with the most elegant smile he'd ever seen and though he found it fetching, he could have sworn it was contrived. "And you're proud of that…are you, Randy?" Her voice, though low and inoffensive hurled the question like a javelin straight though his heart. "Is that what you want for the rest of your life? Women who will fall at your feet, because you _are_ who you _are_? Or do you want someone to fall for you because you are who _they_ need you to be…someone who loves you because they can't possibly imagine what life would be like without you…_and_ all of your faults…the ones that your biography on a website never tells about." Her voice was calm and sincere, even though the words cut like daggers.

_'I thought I had that very thing.'_ He told himself silently. "You're not so immune." He offset, covering the pain her words were bringing forth. "A pretty little package, just waiting to be opened…and then you blow up in some unsuspecting fool's hand…You won't even let down your guard long enough to _let_ someone be your friend…or believe that someone can offer help without expecting something in return."

"And is that what you're doing, Randy?" She asked, as her heart pounded out a nervous cadence in anticipation of his answer. When he didn't respond, she continued. "What _do_ you want?"

He shrugged noncommittally but he wasn't able to hide the hurt in his expression. "What do I want?" He repeated as if asking himself would make the question more real. "I want what every person wants…I wanna wake up in the morning and have something besides a diversified financial portfolio and a travel schedule that's too long to memorize." His tone started soft, but displayed his irritation the more he spoke. "I want to open my suitcase and find notes in there from someone who misses me…and I don't mean my mother…I'd like to have a soft place to land after a long tour and I'd always just assumed that someone would be there waiting for me." His eyes locked on hers and something in him was half wishing that she would say _she_ could be that person…but then the next second he was dashing the thought out of his mind.

"And is that what you thought _this_ would be?" She queried in a light tone. "You and me, a couple of years from now exchanging vows at some altar like your friends did? Having a cozy little story to tell our children about how we met?" she rewet her lower lip as she watched for his expression. "Because I can't give you that…I can't even guarantee that I'll be alive in a month…I _am_ everything you said I was the night I pulled you out of that dive in Hood River…I'm a karmic disaster."

"You _are_." He agreed, nodding. "You are an accident waiting to happen." He laughed out loud despite the seriousness of the moment, recalling their earlier visit to the store, where she'd dropped a soup can on his foot and dumped a small display of limes in the produce section by simply reaching over them for a lemon. She had nearly closed the trunk lid on his hand not paying attention and then swung a cabinet door open into the side of his head at the house while trying to stock them with groceries…she was every 'straight-laced Joe's' nightmare…but she was swiftly becoming _his_ dream. "I'm even pretty sure that my disability insurance lists _you_ as a liability that they _don't_ cover…I might just have to take out a supplemental policy or some accident insurance while you're around."

This time it was Barren's turn to laugh…finding the mood lighter and having once again dodged the dreaded question. "What am I going to do with you?" She grasped the plates, stacking them and shook her head smiling.

And though he had plenty of devious and unspeakable ideas for what she might do with him, he didn't voice them. But he did stand to his feet abruptly as she started to pass and grasped her upper arms placing his body inches from the front of hers, simply because he was shrouded by the all encompassing need to touch some part of her. Randy looked down on the auburn haired beauty and couldn't miss the change in her piercing eyes, from a cool smooth grey to molten silver. He could even detect the variation in her breathing as they stood so closely with one another, her holding a plate in each hand, him holding her arms.

"I could never count you a disaster, Barren." His words tickled as he leaned forward and spoke against her temple, inhaling the softest hint of ginger in her cologne...he didn't know how he knew that it was ginger, but he knew and he loved it.

She could scarcely breathe as she stood so near him that the heat of his perfect body seemed to singe the front of hers possessively. And she couldn't move away she convinced herself…for she held the plates…and so to resist him meant she had to drop the lovely china onto the floor. At least that's what she told herself, even as she cursed herself inwardly for lying. The truth be told, she could have been empty handed and still she would not have moved away from his touch.

He ran his lips over the flesh of her cheek, highly sensitive to the perfection of her skin and the diminishing bruise beneath his lips that he did not see but knew was there. Her scent, her heat…the feminine softness and the way her hands began to tremble as she held the plates. All were familiar to him, every woman he'd ever been with had proved responsive to a few clever words and wisely placed kisses. But he'd never been so aware of a woman's responses to him, nor so intrigued by them until now. "A pleasant diversion…a captivating new companion, but never a disaster." Randy let himself indulge as his lips traveled ever further over the landscape of her face, down the line of her jaw…a touch with his lips so soft he might have mistaken it for a dream. And now meeting with the flesh of her own lips, warm and tasting of the merlot…he could have sworn he heard the softest gasp erupt from her throat as he pressed his mouth on hers, gently coaxing her lips to part.

It was a blinding white-hot explosion of temptation as their lips mated, his hands reaching up to cup her face, as he fell into her, tasting, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. For the first time in weeks he knew what he wanted, knew the answer to the question that had been haunting him, chasing him down like a phantom with demanding…it was _her_…it was Barren. He wanted to touch every inch of a body whose curves he was sure would fit nicely beneath him. Randy wanted to bury himself inside of her and stay there until he was satisfied…and he wanted to hear her cry out and feel her body quake because of all of the things he would do to her. Every muscle in his body tightened in anticipation of her, and he hadn't realized that he'd used his own body to push her back against the table, until a whimper escaped from her lips onto his and he heard the sound of falling cutlery clattering to the floor.

She still held the plates, utterly shell-shocked, as he pulled his head away slowly, his face a mask of unrequited passion. And she was scared…for the look in his eyes told her that she was indeed embroiled in a mess of her own making. The taste of him on her lips and the sight of him was enough to illicit a warm liquid throb in her center and she knew he was feeling the same as she was because the evidence of his desire, though restrained by the zipper of his dress slacks pressed thick and hard against her belly. Dear God what was she doing? She'd only meant for a friendship with Randy to pave the way for her to regain possession of the key…not this! Never this! She had enough bedlam in her fractured existence to worry about without Randy Orton muddying the waters.

He took the plates from her hands and turned toward the sink, gaining the much needed few seconds to recompose his demeanor. But he hadn't wanted to compose anything or to control himself, he'd wanted to push Barren backward onto the table and shred the dress from her body, sink himself up to the hilt inside of her and then repeat the process until neither of them could move. He wouldn't face her, because he wasn't certain he could look at her without confessing his deepest desires to bed her…and he knew that she didn't want that…oh true, her body wanted it…but her heart was somewhere else altogether. He wasn't stupid he could sense it when he'd kissed her.

Randy heard her clear her throat from somewhere behind him, and still he would not face her, could not face her…because through no fault of her own she was imbedding herself deeply within his soul and he couldn't have that…he couldn't. "Goodnight, Randy." He heard her say and with his hands planted on either side of the sink and his back turned to her he nodded staring down at the plates and murmured a concurrent response. And without looking he could hear the steps on the pier and beam wooden floor telling him that she had retreated.

With the fingers of one hand pressed against her lips Barren leaned against the door of the second bedroom after she closed it. How close had she been? She would have easily let him finish what he'd started, and that was the utterly terrifying truth. Randy Orton was everything she should have been looking for in a man, and yet though he was there for the taking, she could not have him…because she still had a key to find, a scavenger hunt to complete and a Congressman's career to demolish. Her body was trembling in places that it shouldn't be trembling, and her mind was curiously delving into thoughts of how his skin would feel beneath the play of her fingers and how his body would come to life entangled with hers. She groaned as she whipped the covers back and socked one goose down pillow with her fist. And then leaping onto her back in the middle of the bed she covered her face with the pillow and resisted the urge to scream into it. Instead she pouted and whined "This…is a _huge_ problem."

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He hadn't been sure why or for what he'd awakened. Perhaps it was his roll in the middle of the night and the intrinsic seeking of his arm for the solace of a warm body. More than likely it had been _not_ finding the warm body that had caused him to whip his hand over the empty place and then fight like hell to raise one stubborn eyelid. His first instinct was to seek out the clock, thinking that he'd slept in and the numbers glowing brightly in the darkened room told him that it was seven minutes past three…a.m. Squinting and lying on his stomach, Dave Batista nearly succumbed to the urge to fall back into the abyss of sleep, but instead he raised up on his arms and twisted his body so that he could determine where his wife…his very pregnant wife had gone.

She hadn't been prone to rising in the night much anymore, now that the constant sickness had passed and so finding her gone, though not alarming, was a little odd. He rolled onto his back and let out a deep, long breath and then rising he stood to his feet, taking slow and tiresome steps toward the bathroom. He had seen no lights on in the master bath and so he surmised that she probably wasn't in there, but he checked anyhow, poking his head inside and flipping the switch on, nearly blinding himself in the process. He quickly shut off the light and ambled toward the hallway, hoping that whatever had dragged her from her sleep it wasn't labor-related.

He peeked inside the nursery as he passed, performing one more act of self-blinding, flipping the switch, cursing softly and then shutting it off. She hadn't taken to sleeping in there for the night and so he continued his trek toward the stairs where he saw clearly that the kitchen light was on. He had barely placed one foot on the landing when he could hear a low mechanical hum that was all too familiar…it was a sewing machine.

Dave's eyes involuntarily narrowed when the blast of bright light hit him and he stepped into the dining room, finding before him his wife fully awake, pinning and tucking the last few details of a shimmering silver dress. He watched for a moment as she pinned this and tacked that, stepping around the table, careful to make room for her stomach when she had to lean or reach. She worked with the efficiency of a seasoned pro…she worked like she had before she had forgotten how. He watched as she rounded the edge of the table and then she caught a glimpse of him. Startled for a split second, she reddened, almost as if she'd been caught doing something she ought not. "Did I wake you?"

"No" He lied.

She listened to his voice…tired and groggy…deep, making him sound as if he'd been a life-long smoker. He wasn't even half awake, his eyes were fighting to stay open and he finally gave way to his need to sit. Something about the sight of him in his current state warmed a part of her insides…it seemed familiar and for some unknown reason she felt tempted to tease him about it, but she didn't. Pulling out a chair, he cleared his throat, and appeared to be shaking the haze of sleep from his brain. "What are you doing?" She heard him ask in a raspy, sleepy voice that cracked toward the end of his query.

Timidly she smiled and lifted one hand looking toward the dress. "I have _no_ clue." She blinked once and then corrected herself in an excited tone. "I mean…I know what I'm doing; I just don't know _how_ I know what I'm doing." She explained to him how she'd been unable to sleep and so she'd ventured downstairs for something to eat. Nancy had thrown the plastic wrapper from a Twinkie in the trash and discovered the crumpled remains of the paper on which Vanessa had drawn the rough sketch of the dress.

She told of how she'd felt compelled to pull the drawing out of the trash. Nancy had lifted the drawing and been suddenly struck with the idea of precisely how to create the dress. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I just…sort of saw it in my mind's eye…like a schematic…a-a blueprint, you know?" She gestured happily. "And the fabric was on the table in the shop…and I have no clue whose bag that is, mine I guess, because there was a little black book of measurements in it…Vanessa's on the third page, But anyhow I just _know_ without a doubt that I know how to do this." She rattled on, seemingly excited, a fresh blush in her cheeks.

He suddenly felt more awake then he had in the previous few seconds and with an arched brow he asked. "Do you remember anything _else_?" Maybe he sounded too eager…oh hell, he was eager.

She frowned and shook her head. "It's weird…because I only remember the dress…and the machine, the thread, the other supplies...Go ahead, ask me! I can tell you what any of this stuff is." She caught sight of his disappointment and without knowing why she did so, she reached out, laying one hand on his forearm and assured. "If I remembered this, then maybe everything else isn't too far off…this is good right? I mean at least for the first time in a little while I can say I know what I'm doing."

He angled a glance at her work…her beautiful work and then with a tired sigh, he said. "Well, at Eighty-Four Dollars a yard for that fabric, let's hope you know what you're doing."

Her eyes went wide as saucers and then she sent him a look of chastisement. "Thanks a lot…no pressure there."

He grinned and glided a knuckle over her jaw. "I'm going to bed…how much longer will you be?"

"A half hour at most." She said confidently. "How weird is that? I can't remember jack-else, but I know exactly how long it's going to take for me to finish." She shook her head and then watched him ascend the stairs, the muscles of his back rolling as he went, his buttocks tightening with each step…Nancy suddenly realized that she'd been biting her lip as she watched him and so she turned and went back to her newly discovered, 'old hat'.

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Vanessa huffed in her frustration, kicking aside a pile of clothing in her closet floor. Apart from the sheer annoyance of post-holiday classes resuming, there was the added hassle of having to share a bedroom with Audrey, who apparently hadn't been born with the gene that would have given her the inborn ability to put her things away. She groaned in aggravation and tossed another of Audrey's stuffed animals into the closet and then watched it roll back out off of the pile and right at her feet. She practically screamed when she nudged it a little harder than necessary to ensure that it would stay put and yet again the stuffed toy tumbled down the pile.

"Oh I hate you guys!" She growled at the stuffed animal as she clutched the toy in her fist inches from her scowling face and shook it. "Every single one of you…" She gritted her teeth and shoved the toy under the bed with the other stuffed offenders. Vanessa tucked her long straight ebony hair behind her ear, but it swept down like a velvet curtain, obscuring her view, as she leaned over to dig through the dresser in search of her missing Louis Vuitton back pack. "Where is that thing?" She muttered, knowing full well that she had brought it with her from her mother's house when she'd come to stay the holidays with her father.

A glance at her watch told her that she had better get moving if she wanted to eat and still not be late to class. With a solid handle on her temporary disorganization, she scrambled to gather her belongings and then tucking them under her arms, she dashed through her bedroom door. Vanessa was in such a hurry that she almost ran headlong into Nancy, who had just now emerged from her own bedroom. The shame over her outburst washed over her at the sight of her stepmother, but Vanessa was unable to find the words that she knew would suffice as an apology and so keeping her eyes averted, and ducking her head, she mumbled a swift "Good morning" and then trotted down the stairs. Vanessa's books, purse and phone spilled forth onto the island, nearly tipping the cereal bowl, from which Audrey was happily munching.

"Audrey have you seen my Louis Vuitton satchel?" Vanessa asked absently as she dug through the pantry for a granola bar. "I know I brought it and now I can't find it."

Nancy entered the kitchen in time to see Audrey shake her head slowly, and then she shrugged her tiny shoulders. "I don't see your back pack." Interesting answer, being as it was close to the truth, though not fully, for she currently _didn't_ see Vanessa's back pack. Nancy remembered telling Audrey that they could not lie about the bag, but with the current tension level in the house being so high, even _she_ was reluctant to do one more thing to rock the boat. Bleary eyed and yawning, Nancy pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and leaned against the counter…waiting.

She didn't have to wait long…Vanessa pulled the granola bar from the pantry and was about the rip the plastic sheathing open with her pearly whites when her eyes caught sight of a glimmer of silver…a dress she had hoped for, prayed for…a dress she had almost allowed to drive a wedge between herself and her stepmother. The granola bar fell from her hand onto the floor as her pretty almond eyes widened, rimming with tears and her mouth flew open, though nothing came out. She was awestruck and guilt ridden as she stepped into the dining room to behold the dress on a hanger over the lip of the door molding. Vanessa looked from Nancy to the dress and then back again, tears threatening to spill forth and a lump working its way up into her throat.

"It looks exactly how we planned it." Vanessa's ragged response was followed by a timid approach where she stopped just short of where Nancy was standing. "When I said what I said…I-I didn't mean…I wasn't trying to…" She tried to plead her case, awash with contrition for her behavior but Nancy cut her off.

"I know." Nancy explained. "I know you didn't mean it."

Vanessa seemed to accept the reassurance and she leaned forward embracing Nancy and whispering an apology against her shoulder, leaving a small wet spot, where her tears had fallen. She raised her head to look at her stepmother, and wiped one eye with the heel of her hand and then as if struck by lightening, her countenance lit up and her posture straightened. "Oh my God! You remembered!!!" She hollered, and then yanked Nancy forward again, hugging her and then she stepped back, held Nancy at arms length and rattled off at the lip. "Thank God! I was so scared you were _never_ gonna remember anything and now you do, and finally things will be normal again. And I don't have to sit here and watch Daddy being all heart broken and sad…I swear _my_ heart was breaking. And now you two will be okay and…I am so glad you remember."

"Not everything." Nancy said, putting the breaks on Vanessa's confession before she spilled anything that wasn't warranted. "I remembered the dress, Vanessa, but that's all."

Dave arched a brow and gently placed his cup on the counter top. He had been watching the interaction, content that peace had been made between his daughter and his wife, but obviously there was a snag in the veritable fabric of the situation and he felt his heart stutter with pensive apprehension, knowing that he was about to make the situation just a bit worse.

"Nothing else?" Vanessa was hopeful. "But I don't understand how you could remember one thing and not the rest." She flip-flopped her hand gesturing.

Nancy shrugged and lifted the bottle to her lips. "Your guess is as good as mine, but maybe the rest is just around the corner."

Dave glanced at his phone nervously and then he reminded his oldest daughter that she had to get moving. "Nancy I have to talk to you." He winked at Vanessa as she scooped up her keys and her other belongings and then tossed another 'thank you' over her shoulder to her stepmother on her way through the garage door.

Nancy followed him into the living room feeling a bit like she might be in trouble and since she couldn't remember if she'd ever been taken to the principal's office as a student, this was the closest image to it that she could fathom. His muscular frame was clothed in such a way that led her to believe he might be going somewhere, and she couldn't very well understand why the thought of him leaving made her uneasy. His khaki slacks were freshly pressed, a smart crease running the length of each leg, and his upper half was housed in a black long sleeved v-neck shirt that molded itself to each and every facet of his muscularity. He may as well have not been wearing a shirt at all.

She held the bottle of water and her stomach rumbled over the lack of food. She could feel the baby moving and moreover, she could see it when she looked down…it showed in the form of a small rounded knot that appeared to be rolling across the canvas of her belly, and the movement made very visible by the tight fitting cami.

A laugh from her followed by her hand on the place where the baby had moved caught his eye and he smiled down on her. He shouldn't have to leave her, not right now.

"I have a signing in Yakima, I have to leave." He told her, remiss to confess it, and yet reluctant to delay the inevitable. "You'll have to take Audrey to school and pick her up." He watched the expression on her face as it rippled from confusion to something bordering on fear. "I'll be back by six o'clock tonight."

"I can't do _that_…" She blurted, feeling the panic welling up in her chest. "I-I don't even know where she goes to school, I can't remember how to get there…what if I get lost?" Out of reactionary distress, her hand flew to rest on his forearm and she felt a disturbing jolt of sensation when her fingers made contact with his flesh.

"You'll be fine." He began, but she cut in.

"Get Vanessa she knows! She could take her…" Nancy insisted, her face a mask of fret and uncertainty. "I bet she hasn't pulled out of the garage yet."

She started past him toward the kitchen, but he caught hold of the hem of her shirt between his thumb and two fingers and tugged her gently back to stand in front of him. He couldn't help but find her dubiousness amusing…it made him smile.

"Nancy, you'll be fine." He ensured her. "Vanessa drives herself and one of her friends so she can't take her or pick her up, but she'll be back by four." He smiled and placed one finger on her lips to silence her when she started to protest. "Audrey's school is less than a half mile down the road, that way." He hitched a thumb toward the right.

"What if I get lost?"

He watched her lip curve into something resembling a pout and it was very nearly his undoing. "Audrey knows the way." He told her, a grin tugging at his lips. "It's straight down Bremmer, then right on 9th and then left on Danforth…two turns on the way there and then you just reverse it coming back." He could tell she was reluctant to do it and he had to admit, that her sudden dependence upon him was flattering. And the tempting curve of her lips as she contemplated the task, along with the slender hand that she had again placed on his forearm was doing more for him than mere flattery ever could. Why was it that just the simple touch of her hand had him ready to throw caution to the wind and cancel everything just to be alone with her?

She appeared to be mulling over the forced duty in her mind and then she conceded, nodding and murmuring a soft "Okay."

"I'll be back by eight." He told her grinning and lifting his bag. He tugged his jacket over his wide shoulders and then out of reaction he curved his hand around the back of Nancy's neck and pulled her to him, her resistance was more out of surprise than abhorrence and despite her split second of opposition he leaned down kissing her once…full on the mouth. It was quick and harmless and it shouldn't have caused his blood to boil and make him imagine taking her upstairs, but it had…and so had the look of surprise on her face and the nervous flutter of her eyes.

His words, his touches were supposed to be getting to _her_…tempting her but instead they were torturing him, reminding him of a relationship that he was seeking to rebuild while she was fighting to delay it. He lifted his bag and then dropped a kiss onto the top of Audrey's head. "Leave the cape in the truck, when you get to school." He reminded her, tugging gently at the twin sized sheet that rested regally on Audrey's shoulders, trailing down her back. "And no mischief." One brow rose in warning and then he said his good byes and disappeared through the door to the garage.

Nancy put two fingers to her lips as she heard the loud growl of the Ferrari's engine in the garage. The loud mechanical roar was followed by two more unnecessary cranks on the throttle. Apparently her husband was as much a kid as any teenaged boy with a sports car could be. Her lips seemed hotter, more sensitive after that tiny smack on the mouth, she let her tongue sweep over her lip and then she swallowed tightly and turned to face Audrey. "What time do you have to be there? I can't remember and your Daddy didn't tell me."

Audrey smiled. _She_ knew why Nancy wasn't able to remember anything. It was only because nobody was trying hard enough. Or at least they weren't trying the right things. It was really scary not remembering anything, Nancy had told Audrey that herself and so there was only one way she would _ever_ remember…and that was if Audrey took over. She knew _exactly_ what to do! Vanessa and Daddy just didn't have the same ideas that she had and so they couldn't possibly know just what to do, and they sure didn't know magic…but Audrey knew. She lifted her head and smiled sweetly at her stepmother and then announced with syrupy sweet inflection. "The bells ring at 8:30."

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The wind whipped his hair up out of his face causing him to squint, when the coolness touched his eyes. The threat of winter rain hung heavily in the air, as a line of clouds hovered above the city, their ever changing formations casting variations of steely grays and chalky blues against the sky. Randy leaned on the railing of the upstairs balcony having slept less than three hours all night. Currently he found himself watching an old man take out the trash. He wondered if that 'old man' would be him in another fifty years, alone and lonely, out by the trash bin in a sweater that was being pulled at by a greedy gust of wind. He watched the man's silver hair fly up in a tangle and he prayed that the only thing that he himself would be doing by the trash bins at that age is taking out his grandchildren's diapers. He let out his breath in a whoosh and then affirmed to no one in particular. "I've gotta get my shit together."

"That makes two of us." Barren had been behind him and he'd not even known it. She had that habit…showing up when he least expected it…jumbling up the orderly way of things…just because she could. The two looked at one other for what seemed like an eternity. "I'm a pusher." She told him, her voice a constant unwavering force, yet soft and unimposing. She stood fidgeting with her hair, coiling one red strand around her fingertips. "Always have been…I never did know how to hold on to a good thing when it was right in front of me."

He watched her as she leaned forward against the railing next to him, but he remained silent, content just to take her in…to absorb the sight of her as the wind made a wild mess of her lovely crimson mane. He could stand and watch her for hours, but he was more interested in the confession falling from her mouth.

"I don't often let things slip away from me." She sighed heavily, feeling tightness in her chest, having realized that she'd never really shared anything like this with anyone. "And I rarely just walk away from something when it doesn't suit…I push and push until things fit the image I made for them in my mind…and usually I end up driving away the thing I was struggling to keep." Barren shook her head convinced that she might be something especially wretched. "I don't mean for it to happen that way, I guess…but I just end up making a mess of it. I can never seem to let things happen the way nature would have it…" Her eyes searched his face for any sign that he might be repulsed by her. "I'm sorry that I couldn't give you a straight answer…and I can't promise you a future, but I do enjoy being with you…here or anywhere else."

"Nothing's ever a guarantee, Barren. We'd all be liars if we made promises we knew we couldn't keep…I've done that before." Randy said softly, reaching a long finger out to trace an imaginary line down her hand to the tip of her finger. "I'm not asking for the promise of a future from you…I just wanna spend some time with you."

"Then let's go find something to do, out of the weather." Barren tipped her head to the sky. "There's an old corny western on TV and then who knows, maybe I can show you how to wield a decent hand at poker."

Randy scoffed. "You…teach me poker?" He laced his fingers through hers and turned to walk back into the house, by her side. "Obviously you have no idea how many games of strip poker I played in high-school."

Barren shot him a look that screamed utter sensuality. "Obviously you have no idea how many games of strip poker I actually _won_ in high-school."

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After ten miles of circling, or what seemed like ten miles of circling, Nancy was beginning to feel extremely frustrated. She was certain that taking instructions from an eight-year, old after having been deferred by a city-implemented detour on 9th street was one of her less intelligent decisions. But since she couldn't remember any of her prior decisions she chalked this one up to simple bad judgment rather than complete idiocy.

"This isn't funny anymore, Audrey." Nancy angled a glance at her stepdaughter.

Audrey appeared completely unaffected as she pointed toward the stop light. "You take a left here."

"Audrey there weren't fifteen left turns in your Daddy's directions, where on earth are you leading us?" Her patience was nearly threadbare as she steered the Lincoln Navigator to the left and onto yet another unknown road.

"Now turn here!" Audrey pointed, bouncing up and down with glee.

Nancy huffed. "That's a restaurant, Audrey…not your school." She wheeled the truck into a space and cut off the engine causing the rumble to cease. She then sighed and turned sideways in the seat as much as she was able, despite the round obstruction of her stomach. "Why are we here and not in front of St. Luke's?"

Audrey ducked her head and pouted, twisting a corner of her cape with one tiny hand. She'd only brought Nancy here because before the accident this restaurant had been a place they'd frequented. She had hoped that driving up into the parking lot would have brought her stepmother around to remembering, but obviously she would be forced to take her inside.

"This is our favorite place." Audrey told Nancy, a whine weaving its way through her words. "I just thought that if you remembered everything you wouldn't be scared anymore…I thought you would remember that we go here."

Nancy softened at the confession and she chewed her lip nervously looking at the front of the building. The glass front was decorated with large red scroll-lettering that entitled the eatery _'Pancake House'_. It was nothing fancy, but it was packed with people, coming and going. "Well I guess it can't hurt." She noted the time on her watch. "We're late already right? We may as well be late and full than late and starving."

"Woo-hoo!" Audrey whooped her delight and yanked up on the latch opening the truck's door and sliding down to the ground. Once her tiny black 'Mary Jane's' hit the ground, her backpack became entangled in the seatbelt and though she tugged, she only succeeded in nearly choking herself with her own cape.

"Hang on." Nancy laughed and climbed from the perch of the driver's seat, rounding the truck to extract Audrey from her prison. Maybe you should take the backpack _and_ the cape off." She suggested as she unwound the seatbelt from the pack releasing Audrey.

"I could leave the back-pack, but never the cape." She insisted as seriously as if she'd announced her candidacy for the senate. "I might _need_ it." She explained, grasping Nancy's hand and then swinging her arm.

Once inside, Nancy shifted her gaze from left to right. The pancake house was a charming restaurant, no larger than any regular eatery, but filled to the brim with nostalgic 1950's paraphernalia. Bright metallic blue and black vinyl booths were shiny and smooth, with chrome kick panels on the bottom and chrome-trimmed, mottled laminate tables. Each was topped with a tiny juke box and a metal rack that housed menus and salt and pepper shakers. The walls were laden with old LP albums and pictures of screen stars and recording artists from the era. One wall boasted the rear end of a '57 Chevy Bellaire, how she knew it was a '57 was a mystery to her, it was just familiar. The black and white, checker-board patterned floors were shiny enough to catch a reflection and for the first time in days she could see her shoes without bending overly far. That silly little fact gave her the urge to laugh out loud though she didn't know why.

"Do you remember it?" Audrey asked as she held Nancy's hand, the two of them waiting by the door behind a sign that read _'Please Wait to Be Seated.'_

"No." She admitted, her curly hair falling over her shoulder. "But maybe I'll just have to taste the food."

A short, rotund woman approached the duo and with a smile that indicated she knew them, she spoke. "It's been a month since I last saw the two of you." Her voice was musical and hinted toward her Jamaican decent. "Must be very busy around your house."

Nancy had almost determined that she could properly answer, or at the very least fake her way through a short conversation with the woman and she opened her mouth to state that she'd indeed been busy. But ever eager Audrey, beat her to the punch and in something a bit louder than an indoor voice, she announced.

"We haven't been busy." Audrey told the woman. "We just didn't go anywhere for a week because she had a big car crash and now she has amnesia."

"Audrey…" Nancy tapped her on the shoulder.

Audrey continued, undaunted, eyes wide revealing the unknown. "What that means is that she can't remember _nothing_…at _all_…not me, not you, not Daddy, and not all of the…." The rest of her childlike spiel was muffled by Nancy's hand as she reached around Audrey's shoulder and clamped a palm over her stepdaughter's mouth.

"We'd love a booth." Nancy said, laughing and still holding her hand over Audrey's mouth even as she followed the woman to the table. She ignored the stares of the other patrons who no doubt were wondering if Audrey was telling the truth or simply being silly. But then again, the mere sight of a cape-wearing child being led to the booth by an amnesia-ridden pregnant woman who was stifling the child's every attempt to talk wasn't something that people saw everyday…no wonder everyone was staring.

After sliding into the booth, Audrey announced. "This booth is special, can you remember why?" Her face held an expression of expectant enthusiasm, as her little feet kicked out a beat on the foot panel of her booth bench.

"Um…" Nancy planted her elbow on the table in front of her and then leaned her chin in her cupped palm. "Is it…because we always sit here?"

"Yes!" Audrey exclaimed. "And there's something that we always do when we come here."

Nancy squinted one eye and tilted her head contemplating. "It's not coming to me." She admitted.

Audrey looked suspiciously at her stepmother. Maybe she _did_ remember and was just faking it for attention, like Audrey did with stomach aches sometimes. And so Audrey suddenly decided that she had to test her. "We always put salt in the sugar thingy, just on the top so that the next person who has coffee gets it." Her brown eyes shimmered with a devious glimmer and she reminded Nancy of Dave. Though the two were not the spitting image of one another as he and Vanessa were, there was no denying that Audrey was his child…they had the same eyes, the same mischievous air.

"Let's do it…" Nancy whispered naughtily and tugged one paper napkin from the dispenser. "I'll try to see if I can remember how we should do this."

Though Audrey was thrilled that her stepmother would do such a scandalous thing, she was disappointed that she had failed the test. They had never _actually_ put salt in the sugar shaker, even though Audrey had always wanted to. She watched her stepmother look around to see if anyone was watching and then she saw her open the sugar lid and place the napkin over the neck. She sprinkled salt on top of the napkin and replaced the lid tearing the remaining pieces of napkin from around the neck so as to hide her wicked deed.

"All done." Nancy said as she watched the expression on Audrey's face, knowing full well by the ambiguous shock in her eyes that the two of them had never done such a thing. But maybe they should have, maybe shaking things up would help her get her memory back. "Just remember not to use the sugar before we leave." She held one finger up to her lips indicating secrecy as the waitress approached the table.

"Hey girls." The waitress apparently knew the both of them as well.

Audrey leaned forward in the booth seat and with wide eyes and a smile she told her stepmother. "Okay, now try and remember what we always get…It's on the kiddie menu, but I _won't_ give you anymore hints." She slapped the plastic coated kiddie menu down on the table in between them and then shielding her mouth with her hand, she whispered. "Just try."

Slightly amused, Nancy fought back a smile and with two fingers, she tugged the menu toward herself, spinning it so it faced right side up. Her eyes flitted over the children's section of the menu, and she was faced with about fifteen viable choices. Only one caught her eye and not because of memory, but simply because she felt that Audrey, impish little Audrey would have liked it. "Do we share?" She asked, snooping for a hint.

"_Yes_." Audrey dragged out the word oblivious to the look of puzzlement on the face of the waitress.

Nancy pulled in a breath and then rewetting her lower lip, she pointed to the menu. "Crazy face Pancakes?"

"Yes!" Audrey jumped up, her knees banging loudly against the underside of the table causing the silverware to jangle out a chorus. "But only we do them a special way…do you remember how?"

Nancy swallowed and shook her head to inform Audrey that she did not.

"That's okay." Audrey comforted. "I'll help you."

The waitress stood, with her pen poised above the pad of paper. "You guys must come in here, twice a month or more…is everything okay?"

Nancy was half tempted to plug Audrey's mouth again, but the action would force her to crush the baby in her attempt to lean across the table. And since she knew she wasn't fast enough to stifle Audrey's little vocal chords, she gave a subtle shake of her head, hoping her stepdaughter would get the hint. She didn't.

"She can't remember _anything_." Audrey explained in her most clinical voice. "She has _'all-timers'_" At least that's what she thought it was, or maybe it was amnesia, she wasn't sure and she didn't really care, so long as she was able to cure her stepmother before the end of the day.

"That's not…exactly…" Nancy started and then held her arms out in laughing surrender.

"It's totally okay." The waitress smiled but the pretty ivory-toothed grin failed to hide the confusion in her eyes.

"Now try to remember what we do to the 'Crazy Face Pancakes'." Audrey prompted and then turning to the waitress she warned. "_Don't_ tell her."

The waitress nodded and she too seemed to be hopeful that Nancy would recall the mystery of the Crazy Face Pancakes.

Nancy thought for another moment and then she frowned, shaking her head. "Sorry Audrey, I don't remember."

Audrey's eyes fell. She had failed at the first part of her plan…she had known, just known that the Crazy Face Pancakes would make Nancy remember but they hadn't. In a sad voice she revealed their modified culinary delight. "We always make them into a scary face…with whip cream for squiggly eyebrows and then she puts candy corns on the scary mouth like teeth." She pointed to the waitress who appeared as if she might burst into tears as she watched Audrey explain in a disappointed drone. "And we have cherries for the eyes, because scary eyes should be red."

"Oh." Nancy could barely stand the gloomy, lifeless eyes staring back at her and felt an instant need to remedy the situation. "Maybe I have to taste them first…maybe then, I'll remember." This suggestion brought a measure of hope back into the little girl's brown eyes. Nancy nodded toward the waitress, who fought with the lump in her throat and turned to head back to the kitchen for the Crazy/Scary Face Cakes.

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Dave shook hands, shooting the breeze with the WWE promoter as he watched the signing table and partitions being erected in the center court area of the mall. Currently surrounded by a gaggle of security, he was still a very tall and very visible target for shouting fans who were assembling in a line behind the barricade that had long ago been set up to house the WWE stars. The area was cordoned off by a curtained, makeshift room and he ducked back behind one curtain after assessing the crowd for a short respite.

He was in a good mood because he always enjoyed signings. He liked meeting the variety of people and he enjoyed talking with the kids…kids were honest, even when the rest of the world was faithless…through the eyes of his young fans, the world made sense. Despite his eagerness to start the signing, he couldn't stop himself from feeling a little worrisome over the fact that he'd had to leave his memory bereft wife. She'd seemed genuinely afraid when he announced that he'd be leaving, he could even recall the nervous expression and the troublesome tremble in her voice when she'd tried to convince him that she couldn't take Audrey to school.

The school wasn't far and he had every faith that despite her lack of memory she'd make it there and back with no problems. And maybe the forced responsibility would help add to her a sense of worth. Perhaps it could serve to make her feel needed. At least he truly wished that today, combined with the memorabilia he shown her would help her feel more a part of things. This morning had done wonders for mending the rift between she and Vanessa, she'd remembered the dress…he grinned and told himself that it wouldn't be long before she was back to her spry and spicy self…and hopefully she would be spicy with more than just her wit, especially since he was tired of taking cold showers.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his lower back and he turned to see who it might be.

"It's fantastic to see you back again." The feminine voice was light, high in pitch and undeniably happy to see him. "So I guess we're doing this one _together_, huh?"

_'Bloody hell'_…he cursed inwardly, wishing he could render himself invisible and firmly believing that he could have gone another year or so without having to be saddled with _her_ at a signing. "Candace." His voice was tight when he acknowledged her.

"Lillian couldn't make it." Candace told him as she let her eyes roam unchecked from his face to his chest, and though she wasn't currently touching him, she had the strongest temptation to do so. His presence so greatly electrified her that she all but forgot her husband, who at present was graciously lending his chiropractic skills to relieve the aches and pains of his new clientele back in Los Angeles…far, far away from the signing in Yakima. "I think there was a problem with her mother…or _something_." The fingers of one hand traced the line of the scoop-neck blouse she wore, subtly, yet flirtatiously daring him to look there.

Dave nodded and turned away from her, digging in his bag, for what he could not say. It was abundantly clear that she was interested in something…possibly resuming the one night stand that he'd had with her just after his divorce and long before he'd met his wife. Along with that disturbing fact was the reality that Candace was a close friend of Christy Hemme, a long ago extinguished flame. And even though Christy wasn't a part of the WWE and hadn't been a part of his life since he'd met Nancy, that didn't mean that she might not show up here to visit Candace if her schedule were free. His pulse was nervously increasing and he suddenly wished that he could find himself somewhere else…anywhere else.

"I might have had to stay home this week if Lillian hadn't been called away." Candace's laughter swirled around him, along with the light floral cologne she was wearing. It teased his nostrils and tempted him to sneeze. "I'm glad that it's _you_ and not Rey…" She circled him and came to a halt beside him. "I suppose they mixed up the name when they called me to tell me who I'd be with, but this is a nice surprise." Her voice dipped lower and became more seductive, giving utter sensuality to such innocent words.

"It's a surprise all right." He muttered, biting his lip, trying desperately to conceal his irritation.

"You're wife…" Candace began, looking at him through a dark fringe of lashes. "Is she feeling well?" Her hand came to rest on the back of his arm as if she might wish to comfort him in some way, to ease some obscure emotional ache. "I had heard that she was dealing with some disturbing…_health issues_."

Dave Batista almost laughed out loud. Candace Michelle was very nearly a carbon copy of Christy Hemme. He knew what it was Candace was after…he was a full-blooded American male…he could nearly smell the desire she had for him…it rippled around them both as they stood there…her looking up at him and him looking down on her. She was beautiful no doubt and from his prior one night experience, he remembered that she was a hellcat in the bedroom, but despite her beauty and the lure of her willing and wanton body, none of her heat penetrated him…not anymore. Dave stepped back letting her arm fall away and then he answered her question with a prideful and knowing smile. "She's fine…healthy, beautiful…and due in a month." The last part of his statement evoked a reticent smile and another round of tinkling laughter from Candace.

"That's right…she _is_ having a baby isn't she?"

Funny, he thought, how Candace had insisted that it was only _she_ that was having the baby instead of referring to her pregnancy with a sense of plurality…as was normally the case when referring to expectant parents.

"No doubt, she's feeling tired these days." Candace assumed, letting her tongue come to rest between both full lips, before forming the famous narrow eyed, pouting smile that had made her a Playboy favorite.

Dave laughed, because he couldn't hold it in any longer. He shook his head, wondering if Candace knew how utterly transparent she was. "Actually she's extremely energetic, as of late." Dave winked as if to imply something deeper. He zipped his bag and stepped through the curtain toward the protection of the promoter…the safety of a crowded area, where he'd no longer have to find himself alone with Candace.

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"Maybe a little more this direction." Barren tilted her head to the left, taking a step back to survey the placement of the sofa in the already fully furnished historical home that Randy had rented. "The whole room looks unbalanced with it over there." She observed.

"The whole room looks unbalanced because _all_ of the furniture is over there…not just the sofa." Randy pointed out, now regretting his decision to rearrange the antique furniture in such a way that it would feel as if he'd put his own stamp on the place. "We need my mother for this." He sighed.

Barren grinned. "Imagine that…a grown man still needing his Mommy." She planted her hip against the side of the sofa ready to push it into place, but she didn't take the time to check for obstructions, when she heaved her end of the heavy sofa. An obstruction was found in the form of Randy's groin area, which was met by the curved back of the ancient sofa, as the corner nailed him…hard.

"Ooopfh…" Randy went down like a deer in the crosshairs, his body hitting the floor with a thud. "Oh, Lord." The words vibrated across his lips as he saw a billion brilliantly twinkling stars and lay on his side, behind the sofa, struggling to breath.

"Oh, shit." Realizing what she'd inadvertently done, Barren immediately skirted the back of the sofa, stooping beside Randy who was curled in the fetal position holding his precious jewels…or what was left of them. "I'm sorry…are you alright?" She laid one hand on his arm and leaned over his reddened face, her hair falling down and caressing his cheek. He didn't answer with more than a grunt and as she scooted forward a few more inches, she managed to accidentally plant her knee cap on top of Randy's free hand, pinning it between her knee and the hardwood floor.

Randy yelped like a wounded animal and curled his arm protectively against his chest. Was there no end to her torture? His eyes were watering, partly because of the pain and partly because he wondered what he done to deserve such a horrible affliction.

"Randy, I'm _so_ sorry." She repeated, concerned, remorseful and trying not to laugh.

He growled and gave her a dangerous glare. "Oh _God_…you're trying to kill me aren't you?" He swallowed and the veins in the side of his thick neck surfaced. "Who hired you? Was it Dave?" He wanted to laugh when his mind's eye conjured up the image of Dave Batista paying Barren off and handing her a list of things with which to torment his unsuspecting friend.

"I never meant to hit you in the…" Barren put her fingers over her mouth, not sure what she should say.

"I was circumcised as a child, Barren." He croaked, trying to kneel. "But I sure never thought I'd be castrated as an adult." He pulled himself up on the back of the sofa, pushing her hand away as she offered her assistance. "Please, no more…" He begged her, edging away with his legs pressed together and a limp in his ragged step.

Barren stayed her distance though she wanted nothing more than to remedy the problem, heal the injury she'd unintentionally caused. But the look of horror on Randy's face and the way he held up his hand while backing away, as if to tell her to keep her distance, brought forth the humor of the whole situation but kept her in her place. No matter how she tried, she could not contain the humor as a laugh bubbled up from her throat. Soft at first and then very soon she was doubled over with it, holding the edge of the sofa for balance. Barren was sputtering apologies as tears of mirth dripped down her cheeks, and true to form, the harder she tried to stop, the harder she laughed.

"You're the reason panic rooms were invented." He mumbled with a grimace, still hunched partway over. "Panic-rooms and athletic cups." He sidled around the couch as she cackled, sliding down into the floor. He watched her tuck her knees up to her chin and bury her face in her hands, laughing so hard she couldn't even speak. "I swear…If we're going to spend much more time together, I should probably just go and have my insurance information tattooed on my forehead so we can save time at the hospital." Another groan as he headed slowly, very slowly toward the kitchen, followed by more of Barren's laughter.

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Audrey was desperate, near tears and somewhat angry to boot. "_No_." She insisted. "This is the bracelet you and Daddy bought in _Vegas_."

"Sorry." Nancy told her, for the thousandth time after having once again failed to guess the origin or existence of one of Audrey's possessions.

"Okay…" A red-faced Audrey said, regrouping to try another approach. She wiggled in the booth and then cleared her throat preparing to sing. "Sing with me, when you remember…_'I love you, a bushel and a peck…a bushel and a peck…and a hug around the_…" Audrey held out her hand indicating that Nancy should finish the song by adding the last word.

Nancy grimaced, and then thinking of the quickest word she knew to rhyme she spouted. "_Neck_?"

"Yes!" Audrey shouted. "You remembered it!"

"No Audrey." Nancy said, exhausted. "I didn't remember the song, I don't remember the rainbow colored belt, or the revolving restaurant at the Space Needle." Her confession was soft as she watched the eyes of the tiny girl glaze over with true heart break. "I want to remember all of that, but it takes time…I don't know if I'll get my memory back all at once." She reached across the table to hold Audrey's hand.

In one last ditch effort of hope, Audrey pointed out. "You lost your memory all at once…you can get it back all at once, I thought that today would make you remember."

Her despondent and forlorn facial expression was heartrending and Nancy felt tears as they pricked at the back of her eyelids. "I'm sorry I didn't remember the pancakes or the other stuff…I really am trying though, do you believe me?" She jutted her neck out so that her face was in Audrey's line of sight.

"I'm not sad because you don't remember the pancakes…" Audrey said, looking at her stepmother. Large tears began to slide down her cheeks and her chin quivered hopelessly. "I'm sad because I'm afraid you forgot that you love us."

Nothing shy of a brick in the face could have hurt so badly and it felt as if the breath had been ripped from her lungs. A sob lodged in Nancy's throat and she had immeasurable difficulty keeping it in, so as not to cry in the crowded restaurant.

But Audrey was far less capable of holding back and she leaned her head on the table hiding her eyes and wept. A few patrons close by were pretending not to look, but Nancy knew that they must be wondering what was happening, and so she slid out of her side of the booth and into the bench next to Audrey. Her arm went instinctively around the tiny shoulders while the other cradled Audrey's head and Nancy leaned over her sobbing stepdaughter and whispered. "Audrey, listen to me." She coaxed her head to turn so that their eyes would meet. A trail of snot had made its way out of Audrey's nose, and Nancy nearly laughed when the little girl wiped it with the long sleeve of her navy oxford.

Audrey looked at her stepmother and murmured the word. "What."

Nancy pondered how to form what she wished to say, how to reassure Audrey. "People don't forget someone they truly love." Nancy told her. "Not even if they get hit in the head and lose their memory…it's just one of those things that God made us to remember in our heart even if our brain forgets for little while."

Audrey shook her head. "I don't believe you." She admitted. "I think that you're lying, because you don't act like you love my Daddy anymore…I think you forgot."

The statement caught Nancy completely by surprise. "Why do you think that?" And once the words were out of her mouth she regretted them.

"Because you stay away from my Daddy and when you do, you make him sad…I think he's going to move out."

Nancy's eyes widened and her mouth flew open in shock. "Why would you think he's moving out?"

"I watched on TV, where this lady was sick and she had to walk on crutches, I think she had MF or something." Audrey began.

"You mean MS?" Nancy corrected.

Audrey nodded. "And she was grouchy all the time and stayed away from her husband and so he paid a nurse to come live with his wife and he moved out with his seckutary."

Nancy raised a brow and nodded. She knew that the idea was far-fetched but it was bothersome…the thought of Dave moving out because he was tired of her lack of memory. "I think maybe _Lifetime Movie Network_ is something you shouldn't put so much faith in. And besides…He wouldn't move out and leave us." _'Would he?'_ she wondered silently, still holding Audrey's shoulders. "I promise, I didn't forget that I love you…I knew it the minute I saw you on Christmas Day…I even know that we're special friends otherwise you wouldn't have so many memories to remind me of."

Audrey nodded and wiped her tears with the same sleeve that she'd wiped her nose. "I don't wanna go to school today." She leaned into Nancy's side and out of reaction she put her tiny hand on Nancy's belly and rubbed in circles.

"I have to take you, Audrey." Nancy told her, determined not to be coerced into keeping her home.

"Pleeeease." Audrey begged, looking up into her stepmother's eyes. "I don't wanna go…I hate school…and you need me since Daddy left."

"Audrey." Nancy sighed and looked away. _'Be strong.'_ She told herself, convinced that she could withstand the guilt trip.

"I can't pay attention in Ms. Hyatt's class because Toby whispers that my Daddy's a chump and not a champ." Audrey pouted. "And I wanna pull his red hair out and cuss but I'd get in big trouble…and if I go and get in there late, he's gonna tease me and say that my Daddy can't tell time or something like that." Audrey sagged against Nancy's side. "If you make me go, I'm gonna be so sad."

Damned if those eyes didn't bring to mind a very handsome, very disturbing image of who her father was and remind her of how hard it was becoming to keep her distance from him. "Oh, Audrey." Nancy clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. "If I let you stay home and your Daddy finds out, he's gonna _kill_ me."

"No he won't, because you're gonna have a baby." Audrey brightened. "He never killed you when you broke the TV." She reminded pointedly.

"Maybe there's a reason why I have a mental block." Nancy said.

"It wasn't very funny." Audrey said. "Daddy wasn't laughing."

Nancy cocked her head almost afraid of knowing how she broke the TV.

"But it got fixed the next day when that man came out and messed with wires and then Daddy laughed in the driveway while they were talking about you." Audrey explained.

"Oh he _did_, did he?" Nancy frowned, suddenly making the decision to rebel. "Okay, Audrey. I'll make a deal with you." She pointed one finger at her suddenly attentive stepdaughter. "One day home is all you get, got it? Tomorrow you have to go back, no questions asked…and let's hope your Daddy doesn't see fit to strangle me for letting you have a play day."

She stood and grasped Audrey's hand, fully aware that she had caved like a badly built sand castle. Once at the counter, she pulled her billfold out to pay the ticket and opened it, realizing that this was the first time she had even looked inside of it since coming home from the hospital. She found the appropriate dollar amount and then handed Audrey money for the tip instructing her to go leave it on the table. It was the picture in the wallet however, that held her interest…one of the corny picture booth photos that usually showed two people with silly smiles or making faces. The first one was filled with smiles, hers…and Dave's and then the next two were evidence that proved her theory to Audrey…that people who truly loved, never forgot who they loved. Especially when confronted with a picture of her arms around his neck and her mouth pressed against his mouth.

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His hand was on the car door when he heard the rapid footsteps behind him and he turned to be prepared just in case it might have been a straggling fan, bum-rushing him…he would have done better by the fan…for it was Candace, approaching him like a weapon of mass destruction. "For the love of God." He grumbled under his breath, turning fully to face her.

She seemed a bit out of breath, but she pasted on her most alluring smile and announced. "I can't seem to hail a cab."

"Of course you can't," He told her. "This is a mall, not an airport." He hadn't meant to sound so condescending or maybe he had…he wasn't truly certain.

"It's funny you should mention the airport." Candace pointed out. "I have a flight in four hours and I haven't had anything to eat all day…I'm _famished_." She groaned like a spoiled little girl. "Do you think we could stop by a restaurant or something on the way?"

He shook his head, confused…he'd not offered to take the Diva anywhere after the signing…not even to the airport. In fact he'd taken painstaking steps to achieve the exact opposite…excusing himself to go to the bathroom right after the signing and then paying a security guard twenty bucks to meet him out by his car with his bag, so he wouldn't have to be alone with Candace in the curtained area. Evidently she was either stealthier than he'd anticipated or just more desperate than he'd believed. "I'm not actually heading in that direction, Candace…" He scratched the back of his head. "Rudy's still inside, if you need him to take you, I think he's got a flight out sometime today also."

"I sort of already told him you'd be giving me a ride…" She pouted. "I just sort of assumed you wouldn't mind helping out an old friend." The last part of her sentence held a nuance that hinted toward the past and he knew quite clearly to what she was referring.

"If I don't get on the road, I'm gonna be late." He told her, plowing one and through his hair in frustration. "Maybe Rudy hasn't left yet." His own tone suddenly reminded him of his wife and her desperation earlier this morning. His wife…damned if he hadn't gotten himself into a pickle. "I don't have time to stop on the way." He told Candace, reluctant to be calloused and leave her standing alone in the mall parking lot. "But there's a nice bar and grille in the airport." He turned to disengage the alarm and accidentally set it off in the process…again he was reminded of Nancy.

"I can't thank you enough." Her voice was like thick sweet molasses.

_'But I'm sure you'd like to try.'_ He silently added, as he slid into the driver's seat and turned over the engine. "I really do have to hurry, I'll get you to the airport but...You'll have to manage by yourself when you get there." He reminded her as he pulled out of the spot.

"And what exactly is it that you'll end up late for, huh?" Candace asked.

He remained silent for a time as the Ferrari hugged the dry pavement smooth as silk even at the speed limit. "Candace, let's not make something out of nothing."

"I'm only making polite conversation, Dave." She chided lightly. "Who exactly are you dishing that advice to, me or _yourself_?" Her hand snaked out and smoothed a wrinkle from the pearl pink silk skirt and she allowed her fingers to trail lazily down one very tanned, toned thigh, to rest on her knee.

The action drew his attention and he swallowed bringing his eyes back to the road. He couldn't let himself be tempted by her. And like a dove of hope, the sign that indicated the airport turnoff materialized. He might have even been tempted to shout for joy, but instead he just sped up, taking the ramp and wheeling around the lot until he reached the passenger debarking area.

"You could always come in and have lunch with me." Candace offered, reluctant to exit the car. She waited for an answer and when none came, she reached a hand out and placed it on his thigh. "I miss us…you…on RAW, close by…so I could look and fantasize whenever I wanted." She slid the slender manicured fingers upward on his thigh until he lifted them and dropped her hand back in her own lap.

"You're famished remember…" He hardened his jaw.

"I _am_ famished, but I want something _else_ more than I want food right now." Her body twisted sideways and she rose up looping her right arm around his shoulder and sliding her leg over the gearshift to rest on the seat in between his knees. "Tell me you haven't been missing it." She demanded, taking his face between her palms and sweeping down to plant her lips on his. "Tell me that you don't think about that night in New York when your wife's not giving it to you."

"Candace, get off." He pulled back from her eager mouth and then after a brief struggle, he planted both hands on her slender hips and pushed her sideways until she was forced to make an awkward dismount. "Its not gonna happen."

"Why, Dave?" Candace seethed, venomously. "Because you feel guilty? Or because you know that you'll be hooked once you make love to me again?"

"Get out." He told her, wiping the taste of her from his lips with the backside of his hand.

"I'm not asking you to _leave_ her or to break your commitment to her and the baby, Dave." She spoke as if that confession alone made everything better. "I just think that with everything we have in the chemistry department we shouldn't deny ourselves a chance to indulge…my husband doesn't have to know…not that he'd care…his hands have been on the aching and the misaligned more than they've ever been on me!" She pouted.

"And so you think that we can just start up a little relationship where we crisscross the country and every once in while we meet up somewhere in the middle for sex?" Dave asked, a frown cutting between his brows.

"We both know that you can't go for long without it." She laughed, and ran her hands up her inner thighs, where the skirt was still hiked halfway up her thighs.

"What makes you think I'm not getting it?" He asked, still not sure why it was any of her business.

She smiled and winked, tracing her tongue along her lower lip. "A woman just knows." She purred, letting one leg fall gently to the side as her hands inched ever higher.

"I want you to get out." He told her, his heart drumming. He was angry that he'd put himself in the position of driving a former one night stand to the airport when he should be on the way home to see his family…and though they were in the lot for debarking passengers, he had foolishly parked several rows back, and now Candace was very nearly masturbating in the passenger seat of his car. "Just get _out_."

"You don't want me out." Candace challenged as her hand slid beneath her skirt. She leaned her head back and sighed once her skilled fingers found what they sought. "You just want _me_, right here." Her hips began to move gently from side to side in the seat. "You could have me…" She offered, closing her eyes and biting her lip. "I would let you do _anything_ you want."

"Stop that! Stop it." He barked angrily and whipped his seatbelt off wrenching the door open. "Get out of the car Candace." She made no attempt to move, other than the gyrations of her hips and the stroke of her hand under the skirt. "I swear if you don't get out, I'm gonna set off the alarm and see how many people come running." He threatened, panicked at the thought that this incident might somehow end up making front page news.

She smiled and looked sideways as she continued to touch herself. "No you won't."

In blind rage he called his own bluff, setting off the alarm and rounding the car to pull her out. The passenger door came open in a heartbeat and he yanked her out, pushing her away from himself. "Do you really wanna lose your job?" He snapped. "You're putting us both in a very bad position." He hissed, reaching into the car and snatching her purse. He slapped the tiny clutch bag against her chest. "Stay the fuck away from me…I have enough to deal with."

She laughed and smiled, straightening her skirt. "We could have both been in a _great_ position if you'd let me finish." Candace watched as he went back around to the driver's side and turned off the alarm. "You know how to get in touch with me if you change your mind." She took another couple of steps. "Give my best to your wife."

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"I know I had four kings on the board." Nancy insisted, glaring suspiciously at her stepdaughter, over the checkerboard. The two had found the favored game in the top of the foyer closet, but half of the pieces were missing, so the two had settled upon a tasty solution. Oreo's. The pawns were simply Oreos that had been opened and laid face up, plain wafers were Nancy, and crème covered halves served as Audrey's pieces. Kings were made by simply placing a whole Oreo on the back row.

"Nope." Audrey insisted "You had three." Her front teeth were covered in chocolate wafer and the mystery was solved.

"You're such a checker eater." Nancy accused, laughing and passing the tall glass of milk that the two of them had been sharing.

Vanessa watched them both and smiled. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal that Nancy couldn't remember the past, because she seemed to be having a great time with the present. The door behind her opened almost soundlessly and she turned setting eyes on her father, who clearly didn't appear to be very happy. "Hi Daddy." She smiled and he hugged her shoulders and then tossed his keys onto the island.

"Where's Nancy?" He asked.

"Playing checkers with Audrey in the living room." Vanessa nodded her head toward the tinkling laughter. "There's pizza, Daddy, if you want some."

He shook his head declining the offer and after inquiring as to how much more homework she had, he asked her if she wouldn't mind using the studio to finish. This was a treat for Vanessa because she always got a kick out of using the piped in surround sound while she was out there and since Max had gone back on the road for another week to meet with Nancy's clients, she would be able to indulge without fear of interfering with his productivity. "Hot Dog!" She said happily and then she stood on tip-toes and kissed her father's cheek. "Did you have fun at your signing?"

He frowned. "It was just crowded that's all." He fibbed and then watched his oldest daughter gather her papers and books and retreat happily to the studio in the adjoining condo. Dave could hear the rise and fall of chatter in the living room and so he assumed that they had no clue he had just come home.

"If you cheat one more time…" Nancy warned laughing.

He heard his daughter snort and saw her roll backward on the carpet giggling and with a mouth full of cookie she announced in a rather garbled tone that she won. And he stood in the doorway in time to see Nancy snatch the last of the Oreos from the board and stuff it in her mouth. He hated to ruin the serene setting in front of him, but he needed badly to get answers.

Nancy saw the shadow that his large body made in the light from the kitchen and she turned with a smile to confirm that it was him. Her heart stuttered slightly and though she wouldn't admit it she was a bit enthused that he was home. "Hey." She said. "You're home early."

"Are you disappointed?" He asked, sliding his hands in his pockets and strolling into the living room. He caught sight of the tiny flicker of nervousness in her eyes.

"Should I be?" She laughed, her uneasiness exposed.

He took a deep breath and cast a glance around the living room, his eyes coming to rest on Audrey who had finally gulped her milk to wash down the mouthful of Oreos. "How was school?" He asked, his piercing gaze fixed on Audrey silently daring her to lie.

Nancy nearly dropped the checkerboard box and had to readjust it in her grasp. He _knew_…and he was _pissed_. She placed the game on the coffee table and brushed invisible crumbs from her black skirt, praying Audrey would not have the guts to attempt a lie.

"Um…" Audrey started to speak, but her voice failed her and she couldn't look at her father who stared down on her from his full height. It was intimidating even to Nancy who was an adult and on the far side of the room.

"Go upstairs. I'll be up in a minute so we can talk." His voice was tight even though it was gentle.

Nancy watched as his eyes followed the down-trodden girl and her path toward her room. And when his neck swung around and he looked at her, seriousness chiseling his features, she wanted to sink through the floor. She tucked the game under her arm and made her way to the foyer closet to put it away and she heard him speak behind her.

"I got a call from Angie on the way home." He announced. His voice held a subtle note of mocking.

"Oh?" Nancy asked timidly, closing the closet door and then walking past him again and into the kitchen straight for the water cooler.

"Yeah." He continued as he followed behind her interested in any excuse she might come up with and slightly amused by her attempts to avoid looking him in the eye. "She got a call from the principal of Audrey's school, who _didn't_ get a call from you, when you saw fit not to take Audrey to class today."

Nancy blanched. He had her dead to rights and there was no use in denying it. "Well, it's not how it looks." She began brushing a curl back.

"How is it supposed to look?" He asked incredulously, holding his hands out to his sides. "You didn't take her to school, did you?"

Nancy sighed and frowned, searching for the words. "_Audrey_, didn't take Audrey to school this morning." She said, gesturing in her own defense.

"Oh, is that what it was?" He asked, nodding his condescension. "Because the last time I checked, _you_ were the one with the driver's license, not Audrey."

He was patronizing her, she grimaced again. "I know _that_." She snapped. "It's not exactly how it sounds…I can explain…I think." She said and then turned to throw away a stack of used paper plates.

He huffed at her hesitation. "I'm waiting…"

"Huh?" She stalled, hoping he would just leave it at that.

"You said you could explain." He prompted impatiently, walking around the island to stand on the other side of the refrigerator, where she was currently storing the leftover pizza on a shelf. "I'm willing to give you a chance." He caught sight of her face, the uncertainty, the apprehension, and he could not put a finger on the other emotion he saw there, but it pricked at his heart.

Nancy closed the refrigerator and looked up at her husband. Why did his eyes have to be so intense, so dark and dangerous? His shoulders relaxed and his jaw became less stiff. "I was taking her to school…" Nancy began and her eyes dropped to the floor before darting to his again. "There was a detour on 9th and Audrey said she knew a faster way." He saw her jaw work and she pursed her lips before resuming. "She was leading me…take a right here and a left here…another left here…another left." She laughed a little and he heard the hitch in her voice as she meandered over to the island in her bare feet, eye-catching skirt and low-cut top. To his surprise, she pushed herself up onto the island with her hands and sat on its top, swinging her feet gently back and forth. "I was getting upset with her for leading me on a wild goose chase, and she had me pull over into the parking lot of the Pancake House."

His countenance softened measurably as he leaned casually against the counter directly across from her. Her willowy arms lifted and she placed the fingers of her hands to her temples.

"She ate before she left, Nancy…you didn't have to take her for breakfast." He knew that she was aware of that, but he reminded her anyway.

"That's not why she took me there." Nancy said, looking at the ceiling. Her hormones must be going wild because she was so close to tears and suddenly feeling very warm. Her shaky voice came out on a tremble. "She took me there because she was convinced that I would get my memory back if we went there…she thought I would remember the…"

"Scary face cakes." He finished her sentence for her, saddened by the tears that he saw forming on her lower lashes.

"She was trying everything she could think of to cure me." Nancy was laughing and crying at the same time. "I couldn't remember any of the things that she talked about…she thought that she failed…I felt so bad, I just couldn't make her go to school after that. She was afraid that I couldn't remember that I love you guys."

The anger that he'd been holding onto fizzled away instantly. He knew what Audrey had done…because the two of them had been having those pancakes for almost two years on a regular basis. It was fully conceivable that Audrey would believe that taking Nancy to do a few of the familiar things would cure her. He stepped forward overwhelmed with the need the need to make her feel better. He'd been right to defend her actions to Angie when she had called from Hawaii in motherly panic after receiving the call from the school. Dave had just known without a doubt that Nancy wouldn't have kept her out of school without a good reason…even though she wasn't completely aware of her past, he knew she wouldn't have purposely been careless with Audrey. He rubbed her upper arms with the full intent to comfort her, but instead her nearness forced every receptor in his body to become keenly aware of her…of her knees on either side of his hips…the smell of strawberries and patchouli oil as it wafted from her body and into the air, filling his nostrils.

She had almost stopped crying he noticed and she was looking at him…in anticipation? Fear? She was only sitting here because it had been convenient for her, but his mind was wandering to times he'd had her up on this island and not for purposes of comforting. Dave was still taller than she was as she sat on the counter and she tilted her head up toward him. He sensed no hesitation when he told her that he wasn't angry…when he closed the space between them completely and took her face in his hands, running his lips over her moist cheeks. He closed his eyes as he partook of her flesh, suddenly thankful that he had not ventured into the dangerous waters of Candace. His hand on the side of her belly slid down to the top of her thigh and he felt her jump, slightly. "I'm not mad." He said against the flesh of her neck and then he could not stop himself from planting a soft kiss on the delicate arch.

"Dave?" She breathed deeply, finding her hands on his shoulders, huge shoulders, where she could feel every movement of muscle and sinew, tendon and bone, even through the fabric of the shirt. His mouth came from the skin of her neck across her jaw line and then up to her mouth, kissing her without fear of rejection. What was that he'd been bothered by? He couldn't remember, as his hands found her hips and pulled her forward, until his body was flush with hers. He felt her hands on his chest, not fighting him just gently attempting to dissuade him from continuing. "Please."

"Please what?" He whispered as his hands ran the length of her back sinking into the softness of her curls.

Her breath was ragged and her heartbeat erratic as he pulled his lips back less than an inch or two from hers. Nancy's body was quaking and she had no doubts that whatever it was that they used to do in their bedroom, it was certainly something she had enjoyed. The hot-flash she was experiencing wasn't hormones and the sudden throbbing at her femininity was a highly intense and pleasant feeling. She wanted him…and that was the most disturbing feeling of them all…a series of touches and a sweet assault on her lips had her melting in his hands.

She was his…and though he wanted to gloat and brag to himself that his plan to initiate a physical relationship with her was succeeding better than he could have hoped, he wouldn't, because he was coming apart at the seams every time he touched her, every time he thought of touching her. "You're shaking." He said, letting his lips touch hers so lightly he might have imagined it.

"I'm cold." Her voice was a ragged gasp.

He laughed soft and low, still mere inches from her face with his hands on either side of her neck, fingers curled around the back, grazing the nape. "In case you don't remember, you're a bad liar." His thumb traced the front of her throat and came to rest in the hollow, where he craved to kiss her.

"What are you doing to me?" She asked, her voice filled with sensation, her lips moist and swollen from his kisses. And suddenly his hands were on her thighs beneath the skirt and she was snatched from the middle of the pleasure by reality and the reminder that there were children in the home.

"You mean you don't know." He teased, nipping at her neck.

"We can't…_I_ can't." Nancy shifted her legs beneath his hands. "Please." She asked in desperation, regretting that she had succumbed to his charm, but not because she didn't want him…it was because the want of him clouded her already addled brain…the feel of him stole her rationale…it made her even less capable than she already was. "I need to go upstairs."

Dave pulled away, and he wholeheartedly agreed with her. She needed to get out of his sight before he was tempted to exercise the right that God and Government had given him when he'd said his vows, and lay her back on that island and make love to her as he'd done countless times before. He backed completely away after he helped her down from the island and he watched her straighten her skirt and was painfully reminded of his earlier close call with the vamp Candace.

Nancy was flustered, he knew it…he saw it on her face when she turned back toward him. He loved the sight of her there, lips made red and plump from his mouth, her chest still heaving from her varied breathing…olive skin aglow from her pregnancy and a belly full of a baby he'd made. How in the world had he ever jeopardized his marriage when he'd given Candace a ride? He could have lost everything in a single moment. He hadn't wanted Candace, but he wanted his wife…right then, right there…and the fact that she still seemed to be in shock as she stared at him, rooted to the spot wasn't helping him. On the verge of pouncing, he conjured the image of his daughters walking in on the two of them and his fantasy deflated quickly. Nancy finally turned and composed herself heading for the stairs, but his voice called her back. "And did you remember?" He asked.

"Remember what?" Nancy asked, turning slowly on the step.

"That you love us." He smiled knowing that she was too shocked to come back with an answer and then without requiring the response, he murmured a soft. "Goodnight" and watched her walk away.


	16. Chapter 15

**Uncommon Bond**

Chapter 15

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"I've grown certain that the root of all fear is that we've been forced to deny who we are."

**Frances Moore Lappe**, _O Magazine, May 2004_

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A light dusting of frost on the ground, one that was sure to melt before lunchtime, caught the luminescence of the streetlights sparkling like a canvas of diamonds. Smoke curled from Sullivan's cigar as he drove onward, propelled by his anger and the knowledge that the demise of his career and the usurpation of the reformist party could very well be happening even now. An exhausting and disturbing two weeks had gone by since Barren had fled from the Oregon woods, aided in her attempt by Owen, who was also conveniently unattainable at present. Next to him in the seat was a silent and equally brooding Evan, who no doubt was haunted by the demons of failure, having let Barren slip away for the second time. The entire unzipped, scattered situation was comparable to walking around with an open chest wound and hoping that you didn't catch an infection.

Sullivan tamped his cigar out in the tiny little tray of the rented car and cast a glance into his rearview mirror, noting the sun as it rose behind him. The blessed light cast variants of red and orange, pink and fuchsia over the already sparkling frost, reminding him of a jewelry box full of precious rubies and baubles of all sorts, left open for him to browse, the way his mother had always done when he was a boy. He was suddenly stabbed by the memory of how he'd stolen one of those ruby and diamond encrusted brooches to pay his passage to the States…and though he knew his mother would have given it to him if he'd only asked, he had stolen it because he'd not wished to explain to his dear mother why he needed it in the first place. Oh she would never have refused him, but she would have gently frowned on his choice nonetheless. And seeing her disappointment would have been too much for even him.

He had come to the states after the intense scrutiny of the reformist party and bloodshed from the war had become too much. In Dublin, he had been eating out of trash cans and sleeping in abandoned buildings his only comfort being the weapon by his side…that existence had been his reward for years of service to a corrupt government. No pension, no severance, nothing but a tattered uniform and a penchant for killing. His very best friend Owen had joined the reformist party as a rebel, only to prove that _he_ could kill as many people as he liked and not pay the consequences for it, or at least that's what he'd said. But hot meals, clean beds and the hope of a life out of the clutches of poverty was an appealing recruiting tool and so Sullivan knew that like himself, Owen had joined up first as a means of survival and secondly, to pay back the Irish government for its neglect and for turning its back on its military. When, where and why Owen had gone soft was a true mystery…Sully was sure that it had something to do with some red haired beauty with a gymnast's body.

She had first come into McCaughey's offices to accompany her brother Duncan to lunch. Sullivan found the memory almost laughable. The way Owen had just about snapped his own neck turning to look at the woman had been the first sign that he'd found her attractive, but as weeks had passed, and she was coming around more frequently, Owen had begun to develop an eye for her. He had built up a new type of courage to boot…finally taking the time to acknowledge her…to grace her with a _'Hello'_ or to good-naturedly tease her brother in her midst. The tiny actions had caught Barren's attention and the subtle spark between the two of them was visible, even to Barren's brother, who apparently had his doubts.

Owen had only become brave enough to ask Barren for a date when she'd shown up to have lunch with Duncan and been turned away at the office by Duncan's secretary who told her he was in a meeting with McCaughey. Sullivan had watched his oldest friend jump into action, coming out of the offices and catching her before the elevator door closed. He'd taken her to lunch and the two had been nigh on inseparable from that moment. That's why it had been so perfect…the test of loyalty. It was a two-fold plan that Sullivan had come up with, and Barren O'Neal was the common denominator.

Originally Sullivan had only thought to use her as a means to test the loyalties of both men, Owen and Duncan. But he'd never in his wildest dreams imagined that the time would come that _he'd_ be tested by her sheer existence. Had it not been for Duncan and his damned steel trap of a brain! The man had done the accounting for McCaughey for only a short time and he was one of two accountants on McCaughey's staff, though Duncan believed he was the only one. There was Duncan on the one end, pushing figures for McCaughey in the office and then there was the other accountant, on the opposite end, filtering, laundering, shifting, altering and sewing the whole thing up tight as you please. And though Sullivan couldn't be sure exactly how it was that the whole process took place, he was absolutely sure that it was occurring. It was only pennies here and there at first and then subtle relegations of funding from one place to another…all done by the mystery accountant and all very legitimate, or so he thought.

The figures on paper should have been so seamless that Duncan would never have known…but clearly, no one had counted on Duncan being neither so observant nor so intelligent. Another thing no one counted on was that Duncan had hidden his own booby traps into the figures when he'd begun to suspect a misappropriation of government funds…and that was how dear Duncan had brought the house of cards down. The mystery accountant had filtered the funds of a few _'Dummy'_ accounts to accommodate a large illegal purchase; a cache of weaponry that was to fuel another raid by the IRP…not in the US of course but far away in Ireland. It was then that the mystery accountant had realized something was amiss, for the campaign contributions, which he had filtered were nothing more than a figment of Duncan's imagination along with some very clever faux documentation.

Of course, since the funds could not be collected, the purchase of weapons had been made from another source, and Duncan had easily found the source and thus proved that _someone_ was spending money on _something_ other than the campaign. He hadn't known about the weapons, not at first, nor had he known about the money sent overseas to feed, clothe, house, educate and train a gamut of soldiers that McCaughey was going to use to bring the Government of Ireland to her knees. No one could be sure when he'd found out about he rest, but he had…Duncan had gone with the more innocent facet of his findings to McCaughey himself, certain that the man he idolized was completely unaware of the embezzlement of campaign funds and that had been his mistake.

Another disturbing fact was that because Duncan was savvy, he'd wrapped all of his findings in safeguards with firewalls and hidden everything so well that no one knew exactly how much information he truly had garnered until they had begun digging themselves. He had made copies of hard drives, used his camera phone to take photos of incriminating documents, which he e-mailed to more than a dozen recipients, all but one of which he had created himself. The final piece of the puzzle was Barren…his sister. The only woman in the world he could trust…the one person who had all control with regards to the second leg of the hunt…the key…or at least knew where the key might be.

Duncan had hidden all of his findings before his death…certainly in the event of his death, to be dispersed or discovered and Sullivan had tried to convince McCaughey that he should be kept alive…that they could get out of him what they wanted by using Barren as bait. But Teke, loose cannon Teke had blasted Duncan's head in two before Barren could be used properly. It might have worked had not Teke been brought into the loop, for there had been order and organization to Sullivan's plan…First they would kidnap Barren and house her in the warehouse behind the docks and then they would bring in Duncan. They could torture Barren in front of him to see how far they could get with him, and then they would hold her until all of the information was retrieved. Certainly in the end they would both die, but not until Sullivan had been able to safely recoup all of the information and ensure that the whole situation could no longer blow up in their faces.

What Sullivan hadn't counted on was that Barren would receive a call from her brother seconds before his plan kicked into action…a message, showing his demise at the hands of an impatient, calloused, assassin who lacked finesse when it came to the art of killing. The plan had called for Teke to accost and retrieve Duncan, while Owen, the one man Barren trusted aside from her brother, would pick her up from the wedding on a whim to take her out to dinner and then prove his loyalty by obliterating her trust and taking her to the warehouse. But she'd answered the message on her phone and the plan had changed, after seeing the death of her brother, there was no way she was going to have a desire to anything other than contact the police and Owen knew it…and so he'd been obligated to take her by force.

And thought nothing in the plan had gone as it was meant to, Sullivan had to admit that he was immensely enjoying the chase…mostly because no one had ever given him so damned much trouble and partly because he had every intention of exacting some sexual revenge on Barren as soon as he found her. That alone would kill two birds with one stone…it would mean the ultimate betrayal to his lifelong friend, a man who was in love with Barren, and it would satisfy his craving for a woman he had been eager to bed since the moment he'd set eyes on her at McCaughey's campaign ball.

Pulling up into the parking lot of the small postal store, Sullivan smiled, shut off the ignition and announced he was walking across the road to the convenience store for some coffee, while they waited for the postal store to open so they could follow the lead from the rental car company.

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Nancy hadn't planned to find herself so disturbed by being alone, but after having taken Audrey to school amidst another tearful round of begging and pleading she had come home to an empty house and she was more than a little nervous about it. Dave had left hours ago for the airport and a plane bound for Terra Haute, Indiana and one of the last SmackDown Tapings he would attend before her due date.

She cast aside her coat and keys wondering what she was supposed to do with her day…contemplate what she had done before she had no idea what to do. She settled on the decision to pull the key from it's hiding spot and try it in every conceivable lock until she determined where it fit and what possible she reason she would have had to hide it in the first place. And so, with exuberance she set out, determined that it couldn't hurt anything for her to snoop through her house and find out more about her own life along the way.

The temperament in the household had improved measurably over the last two days and she had to admit that she felt less and less like a thief…like someone stealing another woman's life. It had certainly helped…that he was willing to show her things that proved that she had been happy…before. It had helped that he'd been patient…but it wasn't helping that every single time she turned around, he was right there; touching her, tempting her. Oh, he made it seem innocent enough, alright—an accidental brush against her arm, or a touch to her hip with his fingertips as he passed her, or the disarming nearness when he found himself with the opportunity to help her grasp something she couldn't reach. He had even mastered the art of weaving his own special blend of innuendo into many of the things he would say and then harmlessly inquire about the flush in her face that his hinting would create.

Inside the master bathroom, Nancy scooped up a towel that he must have left on the floor when he dried off and out of reaction; she lifted it to her nose and inhaled. Her eyes fluttered shut and the musky scent that was only his, mingled with the scent of soap bringing to mind the sight of _him_, the way he'd been this morning before he'd left.

Waking up, she'd found him standing in front of the dresser, digging through the top drawer, with only the towel…not around his waist, but in his hand. Tall and powerfully built, with bronzed skin, droplets of water gliding over taut muscle, she could swear that he was taunting her, though even the sight of his nude backside could not adequately serve as proof. And she had plopped her head back onto the pillow, quite exasperated with the fact that he could effect her in such a deep, erotic way…that he could cause a marked rise in her pulse, a scorching heat in her flesh…even his innocent goodbye and a chaste kiss on the forehead had brought about the visualization of how it might have felt if they'd finished what they'd begun in the kitchen, night before last. And certainly _those_ kisses were burned indelibly against her flesh, for she merely had to close her eyes and she could swear she still felt his lips.

Nancy opened her eyes and tossed the towel into the hamper, a tingle in her gut at the thought of him…She would be lying if she told herself that she hadn't thought about his hands on her skin a dozen or more times since the night before last…and she'd be a fool to try to deny that the fire between them was scorching the thread of her resistance.

Kneeling to retrieve the box of Epsom salts in which she had hidden the key, she put the brakes on her current line of thinking and determined that if she searched hard enough she might be able to resolve the mystery before time to pick Audrey up from school. And yet she was a bit afraid of what she might discover when she linked the key up with its origin. She could very well find herself back at square one before the day was out.

Being in her own bedroom was no different than any of the other times she had been in it since arriving home, it was expansive and plush, with large antique furnishings coupled with massive contemporary artwork, fabulous rich oak floors and on a sunny day, there wasn't a prettier room in the house. She crawled back up onto the bed that she hadn't yet made, fully intent on rifling through the personal possessions in _his_ nightstand. Of course the nightstand had no lock, but that didn't mean there wasn't something inside of it that would require a key. Her hand slid into the drawer, as she sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, and fumbling, she came across a watch and a few other trinkets. Cuff links, a tie tack, a book of popular quotes and when her hand reached further into the drawer's depths, she pulled out a tiny paper wrapped package. Nancy held it up in front of her face and after realizing what it was, she began to laugh…a condom, it was the only one in the drawer and expired at that. She shook her head smiling and thinking that he must have been keeping it as an ironic little souvenir to remind him of what happens when you don't use one. Satisfied that he wasn't hiding anything in his bedside table, she ventured to the dresser and shuffled listlessly through several drawers that were filled with nothing more than t-shirts, socks and other incidentals.

Nancy was about to give up on the notion that he had anything to do with the key, period. This had to be bordering on ridiculous! Why in the world would she have a reason to hide something from him and him from her? He didn't seem like the type of man who would have an alternate personality or an ulterior motive…but then again, she had only been in the company of him while he was with his daughters and so how could she accurately judge what sort of man he was. _'Look at his children and you'll know what kind of man he is.' _The voice in her head instructed her, as she held the key in her hand and pursed her lips together in frustration. But in stubborn rebellion, she kept going, scouring through her own bureau, looking for any sort of box that she might have owned. Her hand skimmed through the top drawer and over something. And even though her eyes couldn't quite reach over the drawer's edge to determine what it was her tactile senses could easily recognize that it was a felt ring box.

She pulled it out and held it up, opening it without hesitation. It was her wedding ring…and it was beautiful. More than a carat in the center a cushion cut diamond set in antiqued, darkened platinum and flanked by two very tiny round diamonds…the whole setting atop a thin shank that had been engraved with the tiniest almost invisible scroll detail on the sides. This was something that she had not noticed about the ring when Dave had shown her the picture. She could see that the ring was an amalgamation of Dave's nervous confusion, Audrey's affinity for all things shiny and Vanessa's sense of level-headedness…and it was breathtaking.

"Wow." She whispered, and biting her lip she grinned and slipped it on her left hand. Nancy wasn't surprised that the ring looked as if it belonged there and as she turned her hand from side to side watching the play of light and color through the prismatic center of the perfect stones, she told herself that she wasn't doing anything wrong, because it was _her_ ring after all. Her narrow fingers seemed dwarfed by the ring but it fit snugly, comfortably. Admiring the special piece of jewelry, she sensed she was loved…three people had put their heads together to give her something they were sure she would adore.

She had snapped the felt ring box shut and was about to resume her search, when the phone rang loudly behind her, causing her to jump. Nancy curled the key in her palm and rushed to the phone on the night table, and picking it up she answered a bit breathlessly. "Hello…"

"What are you doing?" She knew the voice on the other end immediately…and as simple as the question was, had it been necessary for him to sound so sensual, he might as well have asked if he could have his way with her.

She was fighting to get the image of that very thing out of her head, and so her voice was a bit more gruff than usual when she answered. "Nothing…um, well I was just…I dropped Audrey off and so I was…" Oh, hell! Who cared what she was doing…what was he doing calling? He was supposed to have been on a plane!

"Are you snooping?" Another one of those questions plain and easily answered…but made provocative by the nuance in his voice.

She furrowed a brow. "What? No…" She stammered.

He laughed indicating that he knew better. "Of course, you're not." He told her, teasing and she felt her ire begin to rise.

"You're not in-flight?" She asked and after hearing him tell her that the plane was delayed so they could clear an obstruction from the runway, she continued. "Oh so then you're still heading out?"

"Yes, why?" He asked.

"Then so what if I'm snooping…" She taunted him, matching the tone in his voice. "You won't be here to stop me."

The soft rumble of laughter that rolled from his throat, made her smile, though she wasn't sure why, and she was equally clueless as to why that deep silken laugh tickled her insides…why all of a sudden she could easily envision him in the airport cradling the phone as he laughed.

"You are every bit _'you'_, even though you don't know it." He told her.

'_And you are unsettling and unreadable, exasperating and attractive all at the same time!' _It was what she wanted to say to him, but instead, she sighed and let the breath out slowly, switching the phone from one ear to the other.

"You sound winded are you alright?" This time she could sense the concern in his voice.

"I had to hustle for the phone." She lied…she was winded because she could scarcely breathe when he spoke to her anymore, what with everything he said sounding like a sexually based avowal, despite the fact it was merely innocent and proper speech. It was as if her body had reverted from unaware to very aware in no time…she couldn't control her responses! She was living in a body that was rebelling against its own nervous system, refusing to behave…and never mind her vivid imagination…she was having as much trouble controlling _that_ as a sea captain would have in turning an aircraft carrier on a dime. The impulse to bash her head against the wall was so appealing that she'd had to resort to closing her eyes and composing herself whenever the thought of him arose.

"Make sure you rest…we're boarding so I have to go, but I'll be home on Friday." He told her…but in her ears it sounded as if he'd just instructed her to _'get into bed and that he'd be there to make love to her in a few minutes.'_

"Okay." She croaked and then after hanging up she groaned. He had said he loved her and yet she hadn't been able to say it back…Some part of her believed that if she had said it when she had no handle on her memory it would make the proclamation less true.

Done with the bedroom, she shut off the lights and made her way down the stairs.

The kitchen held no mysteries now that she had regained what she assumed was her long lost appetite and thusly was privy to every nook and cranny of that space. And the living room, though comfortable with all of the thick fabrics was impossibly neat, with few places that might be used to conceal something. So aside from a few pictures above the mantel and a large bowl filled with resin orbs sitting in the center of the sofa table, there seemed to be nothing of secrecy in there either.

Nancy found her curiosity dragging her in the direction of his office and she went with her instinct, though she cast a look over her shoulder just to make sure he hadn't somehow forgotten something and come back to find her there. Tall ceilings were everywhere in the condo and so it was no shock to enter the office and find the soaring ceiling that made fine use of the roofline, off of the back side of the stairwell, where it attached to the neighboring condominium. The walls of the office were painted a deep shade of cocoa and the floors of ebony walnut echoed the warm tones. A floor to ceiling window on the east wall drew in the light preventing the space from appearing too cramped. Nancy was impressed with the tastes of whoever had chosen the décor for this room as well as the others…she would like to have thought she might have had some influence in that area. A gigantic leather chair, tanned to a fine soft hand in chocolate brown sat imposing and thick behind a desk made of rustic driftwood. It had been polished to a high shine on the very top, but remained a gnarled organic finish throughout the base.

As her steps took her around the room, Nancy's hand grazed a console table along the wall and she turned admiring a picture of the girls posing on a park bench while snow swirled around them and then another of his mother and sister…she knew who they were because they had been in the scrap book that Dave had made for her…and then there was one picture of Nancy on Dave's lap at someone's Christmas Party. She determined it must be a Christmas party because a sadly wilted Santa Hat was perched atop his head. Nancy might have even been inclined to ask him about the picture at a later date, but surely he would be forthcoming with a sexually deviant wisecrack about how they'd had fun with the Santa Hat…_later_…she'd just wait for the return of her memory on that one.

A bookshelf on another wall was filled with a collection of lunch boxes, and several of the wrestling figurines that depicted an intimidating, roaring version of himself, complete with tiny replicas of tattoos that she had seen when she walked in on him showering. She shook away the recollection and browsed through the collection…yet another reminder that her husband was still a kid at heart...Somehow the sight of it made her smile and she wondered if she had ever bought any of them for him. An assortment of papers littered the top of his desk, lending credence to the theory that he wasn't a clean freak, but rather an average everyday man. His flight itinerary and hotel reservation were among the papers, a checkbook carrying both his and her name…the sight of which seemed inordinately intimate. Amongst the stack were a few sheets of paper from his physician, detailing a well check, but nothing else of any real interest.

Nancy left the office, no more enlightened about the source of the key than she had been before she had ventured into it, deciding that she could learn more about herself by perusing through her studio than she could by sifting through her husband's things. Nancy strolled to the end of the hall and laid a slender hand on the studio-door, twisting the lever, she let the door swing open and peeked into the cavernous depths. Two steps inside and she was regretting her decision. It was either entirely possible that a splinter grenade had gone off in the main area, or of greater probability was the theory that she was a damnable slob! Every surface within view was covered with papers, fabric, machines and the like. Bolt after bolt of colorful silks, rayon, cottons and linen were leaned against tables and fairly showering down a wall of shelving.

"Oh good Lord." She murmured in slight disgust as she spun around the industrial space. Her view was unhampered by the high ceilings giving her a full unedited glimpse of the disaster that was her studio. A sofa and two club chairs flanked a coffee table made of distressed wood and comprised what she thought was a sitting area, but the thick blanket draped on the sofa back along with a stack of puffed up pillows told her it was Max's napping spot. She could see that though this was nearly a mirror image of the bare-bones floor plan that comprised the condo she lived in, it was sheer blasphemy in the eyes of anyone who held a predilection for cleanliness and order. It was an architecturally anorexic structure…cold and unkempt with only the east windows sucking in the daylight, it was bordering on frightening.

Enough of the studio…She closed the door behind her and took relaxed steps back down the hallway. The whole idea was preposterous…the thought that the key might have opened something in the house, for the more she studied it, the more she believed it might have opened some sort of deposit box or lock box and there didn't appear to be anything like that in the home she was sharing with her husband. This realization further confirmed the assumption that she might be hiding something from him…something outside of the house…and the more she thought about it, the more she concluded that he probably had no idea about the key at all.

Nancy had decided that she would be better off leaving the key in its hiding spot until she regained her memory and could employ it for its intended purpose…or dispose of it and get on with a life that seemed to need her in it. Every time she looked around her, staring her back in the face were all of the signs that she was a treasured part of something the two of them had begun building, before she lost her memory…and with a slight air of sadness, she realized that some equally lonely part of her was envious of what had been. _'It could be that way again…'_ The voice said hopefully, and as the doorbell rang loudly causing Nancy to startle once again, she almost believed it.

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He shouldn't let it bother him the way it was, but he couldn't help it. How many more times would he keep extending himself only to be cast off by her again? And even though he was tempted to crush the phone in his palm in lieu of sheathing it in its case on his hip, he knew the answer to the question…a thousand times and more. He would keep trying because he knew that she loved him, unequivocally…without question, even if she didn't remember it. And it wasn't so imperative that her lips confirmed it…because that fact was verified bodily, every time he was close by.

The plane would lift off soon, now that the obstructions were removed, and as he seated himself in the first class section of the plane, he smiled recalling the night before last. It had taken every bit of restraint he could muster to let her walk away after he'd stood between her knees and kissed her almost as if it had been for the first time. He might have been able to consign the entire happening to simple accident…maybe a result of being in the same place at the same time when she needed comforting because of her tears…maybe. No way…No woman reacted to a touch the way she had when there wasn't attraction, desire…utter sexual need…in the mix somewhere. He knew Nancy and he knew that everything she had done in the course of his touches…was innately, Nancy.

It gave him hope in more than just one way…he had a strong desire to have her back in his bed…in the role of his wife, but that was the least of what he wanted. He wanted her to tease him about his snoring, to sneak into his closet and commandeer his shirts without asking. She would laugh behind the rim of her coffee cup when he told her of some amusing occurrence on the road and he wanted the beauty of that once more. He was desperate to wake up to the sight of a lipstick kiss mark on his forehead where she had kissed him in his sleep before 'borrowing' his Ferrari to go to the gym or to pick up breakfast on the days he slept late. Dave Batista was aching for a phone call in his hotel room, one that told him of how she missed him and that she was thinking of him…followed by a detailed account of just what ways she was thinking of him. All in all, he just wanted _her_ and if by some horrible chance, she never regained her memory…at least he could rest in the hope that if everything that made up her character before the accident was built into her at birth, then memory or lack thereof would not serve to deprive him of who she truly was. Because she would continue to be what she was before…as soon as she realized that he wasn't out to harm her.

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Evan grinned, as he stood at the counter in the postal store speaking to the woman in the green apron.

"I hav'na' seen anyone as pretty as you in as long as I can rememb'r." He laid down his compliments, thick with the Irish accent that so often helped him get his foot in the door when it came to women. "What did ye say yer name was?"

"Elaine." The short haired blonde spoke with timidity, utterly flattered that the handsome man in front of her was actually inquiring as to what _her_ name might be. Especially since it was obvious that he could have had any woman he wanted. "M-my name is Elaine."

"Ahh…" He smiled and reached his hand out grazing hers with a stray finger as he leaned one hip against the counter-top. "I like that name." He watched her duck her head, her lips trembling with a shy smile and he knew that Elaine, along with half of the female population was just one word, one kiss, one caress away from being atop him in a hotel bed. "So tell me…What does Elaine like to do fer fun?"

Meanwhile his glance tilted to behold Sullivan standing next to the row of Mail Boxes currently being loaded with mail. This was almost too easy to be believed…Sullivan stood near to the mail carrier, and every few seconds he let out a sigh of frustration, shifting from one foot to the other as if he were being delayed. It wasn't until Sully had noticed the carrier inserting the mail into the box in question, when he finally made his move.

"Do ye plan on finishin' anytime in the near future?" Sullivan hissed over the mail carrier's shoulder. "I have twenty minutes before I have to be back at the hospital!"

The mail carrier cast a look over his shoulder that could only be described as indisputably neutral. "I don't have many more to do." His head revolved back to his task and he continued to stuff mail in other boxes, easily, efficiently as the panel was down exposing all of the boxes.

"Oh, come on!" Sullivan prompted rudely. "Can ye move? My wife is at the hospital with her mother."

When the man turned to regard Sullivan, a fellow Irishman scuffed the mail bag with his foot, tipping it and causing the neatly organized load to spill. The carrier turned to retrieve the fallen mail and when Sullivan apologized for his impatience and leaned down to help the man, he told Sullivan to find his box, that he could take his mail and have a nice day.

Sullivan nodded his thanks, offering once more to help with the scattered mail, but the carrier waved him away, so Sullivan pulled the mail from the box and tucking it in the inside pocket of his leather jacket, he nodded to the clerk and walked back out to the car.

This gave Evan plenty of time to exchange phone numbers with Elaine, providing a false one to her he leaned forward and brazenly kissed her on the cheek.

"I'll call ye tonight." He whispered into her neck, which smelled like a combination of baby powder and cigarette smoke, fully intent on forgetting her before they passed the first mile marker on the highway

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"Barren?" Nancy confirmed, as she pulled the front door open to find the pretty young woman standing on her porch steps. In a smart cream pantsuit with a long white wool trench coat, Barren looked every bit the part of a professional. Professional in what respect, Nancy couldn't say but the sight of Barren made her feel somewhat drab in her current ensemble. Randy was locking the car, but in seconds he was bounding up the steps behind her, shaking the cold from his shoulders and smiling that same smile he'd had on New Years Eve.

"Thought you might like some company, now that you're rid of Dave for a day or so." Randy was only teasing, but Barren grimaced playfully and then laughed as Nancy ushered the two of them inside.

"I'm sorry, "She said. "I had no idea the two of you were planning a visit." Nancy was holding the key and chain tightly in her palm and though she hated to have to excuse herself to put it away, she felt a shudder of apprehension and so she told the two of them to make themselves at home and she headed up the stairs toward the Master bathroom.

She placed the key safely back in its hiding spot and straightened the soft cashmere sweater that was fitted tightly across her belly. A round of kicking and rolling brought her attention to the baby curled in her stomach and she thought ironically of how she had read in the magazine on the coffee table where a baby knew a thousand words or more before it was even born, and yet she couldn't even remember her social security number. She found the thought funny, as she ran her hand over her stomach and strode down the stairwell, nervous at the prospect of the day ahead.

Back in the living room Nancy made an awkward attempt to be a good hostess by offering to make coffee, but the offer was politely declined and the pair of friends laughed about their misfortune with coffee once this morning already. "I've had to change my shirt twice." Randy laughed. "Once because of _her_ and once because I wasn't paying attention."

"I really feel bad that I didn't know you were coming." Nancy told them, sitting down in the club chair across from the sofa. "Because I would have made breakfast or something."

Some aspect of the comment must have been incredibly funny for it set Randy and Barren to laughing lightheartedly and the two exchanged glances as if they shared a secret that Nancy didn't know.

On a sigh, Randy informed her. "No that's okay, in fact we came by to see if we could help you with anything…if there's anything that you needed done that you're not able to do yourself." He wondered if he sounded like an idiot. "Maybe we could just keep you company?"

"Did Dave put you up to this?" The corner of Nancy's mouth turned up into an uneven smile, slightly flattered by the thought that her husband might have had someone looking out for her while he was gone.

"Oh…no, he didn't, but I know he's gone till Friday and I just thought that if there was anything that he didn't get to while he was here…" Randy said. Glancing at Barren he noticed her good-naturedly mimicking him from her seat next to him.

Nancy chuckled watching the pair, "Actually he didn't leave me with anything undone…not like I would know what to do anyhow."

Her smile was warmer, Randy noticed, and it made him wonder what might have happened in the days since he had last seen her. Before, she had been like a skittish cat and now she seemed to be easing into the swing of things…even if she wasn't quite sure exactly what the 'swing of things' might be.

"I really appreciate the offer." Nancy told him.

Barren leaned forward, when she sensed a break in the conversation. "I really hate to ask, but would it be possible to use your internet connection? I have to check my bank balance."

Nancy nodded, "Oh, um sure…I think the laptop in his office is set up for internet." She hitched a thumb toward the hallway indicating the direction of the office.

"The maybe after, we can all go out for breakfast." Barren winked at Randy and then ventured toward the office leaving the two of them in awkward silence.

He knew that he should try to make polite conversation, especially since she was the wife of his best friend, but he found it hard to think of anything to discuss. What exactly did you say to someone that had been deprived of memories by your own negligence? How did you make nice with someone that had been injured as a result of your immaturity? He knew that she couldn't possible have known how remorseful he was about the accident…how scared he had been that she might die and it would have been his fault. There weren't words in his known vocabulary for making peace in his soul with something of this nature…but he thought he might know what peace looked like when he stared at her sitting across from him in the chair. She appeared awkward, nervous, as anxious as he was about making conversation…but she also seemed changed…resigned to something. She might be out of place while the two of them were here, but she still had a sense of peace…he could see it in her eyes.

"Dave says you had a breakthrough the other day." Randy mentioned, trying to melt the ice between them. It was difficult for him to fathom what it might feel like to wake up and not remember anything. It was difficult to gauge true empathy for her, because Randy could remember every 16 digit number to every single credit card in his wallet…Now, of course he had mastered the art of convenient amnesia, which usually served as a fine excuse not to call a one night stand the following morning.

Nancy's responding smile had Randy wondering whether it was his mention of Dave or the breakthrough that had sparked such an attractive gleam in her countenance. "I remembered a dress that Vanessa and I had been designing for the Sophomore Dance and so I was able to make it for her."

"Knowing Vanessa, I'll bet that went over pretty well."

"It did." Nancy confirmed, reluctant to admit all that had transpired between the two up to that point. "I don't remember anything else, but I'm not so sure that's the most important thing anymore."

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She logged on under the name _'Desert'_ and navigated her way through a plethora of chat rooms until she found the place for which she had been looking. A glance over her shoulder now and again told her that she wasn't being watched and so she continued…and with swift fingers, she began to type.

_'The eyes of God are in every place…'_ and she sat with anticipation…waiting for the response to finish the verse. It was a sheer struck of luck that she had been able to convince Randy that the two of them should pay his friend's pregnant wife a visit at this exact hour of the day. He had been planning a visit to his friend's wife in the evening, but a little cajoling from Barren had gotten him around to it early. Between the hours of nine and ten a.m. was the time that had been designated for her to go online if ever she got the chance…this was how she and Owen had planned it beforehand.

Several sad seconds ticked by with a range of comments from insinuations of sex, to one chatter telling her _'No Bible beaters in here.'_

Again she touched the keys, typing, _'The eyes of God are in every place…' _ Her intake of breath was swift when she saw the words. _'…beholding the evil and the good.'_ It was the response that she had been waiting for and it had been typed by a chatter using the name _'SadMan101'_.

_'SadMan'_ She typed. _'Who has said in his heart that there_ _is no God?'_ Barren held her breath, waiting…not even able to look over her shoulder to ensure that she was still alone.

The answer to her question came before her next breath. _'The Fool.'_

"Oh thank God." Barren whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips. She swallowed a sob on the verge of crying, thrilled beyond all reason to know that Owen was alive and presumably safe. _'Amen'_ She typed with trembling fingers…the code word that told Owen that she too was safe and by that alone, he would know that even if she hadn't completed what was required of her, at the very least, she was still alive and would someday be rejoining him.

Knowing that she had to make her contact as minimal as possible, she logged off and fanned her face with a hand, the heat of her emotions clearly surfacing. Barren stood, turned off the computer and realigned her features as if she had merely been checking her bank balance and not confirming her safe existence to the love of her life. Now it was time to get cracking on the task at hand…and that task just happened to be jogging the memory of a certain culinary inept pregnant woman.

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He rolled his shoulders and stretched his back behind the gorilla position, waiting for his cue. His mind, though cluttered with various bothersome details just moments ago, had cleared only to be replaced by an adrenaline fed monstrosity, his alter-ego.

Dave Batista didn't need to be gone from the ring long for him to feel the effects. Mere days could put him in a twist, tormenting him with a strong desire to get back between the ropes…but even though he had been glad to come through the doors, glad to get back into the ring…a part of him was just as desperate to be home with her. It was ironic how his need for wrestling directly paralleled his need for her…it was difficult at best to balance both sides of the coin. Something tugging from both ends…something had to give.

The refrain of his entrance music, a loud riff and the pop from the crowd…it was all it took to drown out his earlier troubles and bring him into the place where he could do what he did best. Fans and signs, the ramp the ring…and Chris Masters standing in the middle of it. The Master Lock was waiting for him…that's what Chris's promo had bragged…and the challenge had come over cross brand from RAW. Stepping between the ropes, Dave Batista smirked…he'd always liked working with Chris and now that he had the chance to do so, in the form of a Cross Brand rivalry, he was going to make the best of it.

A short moment of circling ensued, before a powerful, earthshaking lock-up. The two similarly sized men attempted to out leverage the other and Chris soon pulled Dave into a headlock, wrenching. Dave easily powered him into the ropes, but was still being restrained by the headlock. Dave was pulled away from the ropes and taken to the mat with a headlock takeover that landed him on his back. It wasn't hard for him to see why many other wrestlers enjoyed working with Chris. His moves were crisp for his size and though not flawless, those moves coupled with the way he was able to 'sell' his injuries and spots, made his matches seem all the more real.

A short struggle on the mat ended with Chris pulling Dave to his feet and body slamming him back down once more. The referee warned Chris for a jab to the eyes and broke up a hold giving Dave a moment in the match to sell the move and then recover. But in the fickle way of wrestling, the unknown could happen…and did. A loud and sensuous refrain prefaced the appearance of a brunette, scantily clad Candace. And she stood beneath hot lights with the most derisive smirk at the top of the ramp…her eyes locked on Dave Batista and a microphone in her hand.

"Holy Hell…" He snapped under his breath as he turned his back on Chris to behold the horror that was Candace Michelle.

Candace paced back in forth, a sultry sway in her step, as she spoke. "You should never have messed with me, Dave."

And Dave, who suddenly realized that even though this was a 'work'…a storyline built up by the unpredictable team that comprised WWE Creative, had the slightest inclination to believe her. And he could wager that Candace was dead serious…meaning every word she spoke.

She laughed, her eyes squinting. "Nobody treats me like a ring rat and gets away with it…Nobody uses me…" She brazenly slid her hand across the low-cut neckline of her lingerie. "Nobody takes what they want from me and then throws me aside."

And with the sting of bile in his gut, he was reminded of the ill-fated moment in his car after the signing. The reality of what she was saying had his blood running cold. How much of her character bore resemblance to her true self? Dave had never considered himself a man that feared anyone, but at this very moment, he was very nearly horrified at the thought that Creative was possibly setting Candace Michelle up as a female antagonist in his current rivalry with Chris Masters. Or even worse, antagonists sometime were required to turn and become a love interest…and that possibility had him rethinking his career as a whole.

Before Candace could finish her spiel, Dave felt the full nelson being locked in on him from behind and because he had already known that Chris would be going over…winning the match, Dave knew that he had no choice but to allow the Master Lock. And he could sell it, because of the surprise element that had been created by Candace. No way in hell had he wanted to lose to a submission as opposed to a pin, and he damned sure hadn't wanted to deal with Candace Michelle tossed in the mix!


	17. Chapter 16

**Uncommon Bond**

Chapter 16

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart."

**Lois McMaster Bujold**, _"Memory", 1996_  
_US science fiction author _

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He wrenched the handle on the faucet, causing the flow of hot water to cease and he stepped from the shower, emerging much cleaner, but no less irritated. Dave Batista was looking forward the explanation that he knew would come in a few short minutes, when he met with Johnny Ace, Ted Dibiase and Chris Masters, with a mixture of trepidation and anger. After the fiasco of his match Dave had stormed behind the curtain, eyes glittering black with thunderous fury, looking for someone, anyone on which to inflict some damage…and was instantly met with the comforting reassurance that all of _'this bullshit'_ was simply a part of the storyline and it would help him transition homeward for a short time, for the birth of his child. But Dave wasn't stupid and so he knew with a fairly strong degree of certainty that there was something else fanning the flames, something behind the façade of a storyline.

His shirt became a formidable foe when he attempted to tug it over his wet shoulders with jerking motions. He was inclined to rip the garment to shreds in his frustration, when he felt a gentle slap on his bare back, and heard the encouraging voice of a friend.

"You made an unplanned stunt look like it was written into the script." Chris Benoit informed him, sweat dripping from his forehead and torso, indicating that he'd just finished his match with JBL. "Don't ever let anyone tell you, you're not a master of improvisation."

Dave sighed and nodded, inserting toiletries into the pockets of his bag with unnecessary force. "So then I'm not the only one who noticed." It was more of a statement as opposed to a question.

A smooth nod from Benoit as he stuffed his gear into his bag and pulled his shaving kit out dropping it onto the bench with a _'plop'_. "It was bullshit all the way around if you ask me…but you _weren't_ asking me, so what I think might not matter much." He laughed displaying his missing front tooth.

"It matters…" Dave grumbled, his face a mask of dark and pensive annoyance. "It's coming from a friend, so it matters." His hand tugged the straps of his duffel and he lifted it up, and began to roll his suitcase behind him toward the door. "Thanks Chris."

A soft "You're Welcome", followed by, "How's your wife?" as Benoit stood to watch his friend leave.

Dave Batista wished he could answer that very _simple_ question, but it was an enigma…he knew she was well and that the cut on her head was healing quickly. He even knew that the baby was growing by leaps and bounds because the expanding stomach told him that much. Dave knew that she was reforming forgotten bonds with his daughters, but he also knew that she was treading a wide circle around him every chance she got…he knew that she preferred Audrey's company to his, and that she would rather read a book in the nursery than watch a movie or have even a simple conversation with him.

And so with all of the things Dave Batista thought he knew, there were that many more that he did not. How was she…_truly_? How in the hell should he know? The only glimpses he got into her inner sanctum were few and far between…and he usually only got those glimpses when he was so close that he unnerved her long enough for her to let her guard down in her confusion. He wished he _knew_ how she was…he even wished someone _else_ truly knew how she was…because as it stood at present, she sure as hell wasn't telling _him_ anything.

"She'll be fine." He finally said and he knew at least _that_ was the truth, because she would be someday.

Chris nodded, his brow pleating and his lips curling up to one side as if he knew that all was not well. "When you wanna talk, call me."

Not _'if'_, but _'when'_…it was typical of someone like Chris Benoit who was a natural born calming force. God must have created him for that purpose alone, because he seemed able to assist anyone on the male counterpart of the roster, when it came to sound advice. But a quality of which he was unsurpassed, was absorption…Chris Benoit was a sounding board and an emotional sponge all rolled into one. And as long as Dave had known him, Chris Benoit had never been one to give advice lightly…Dave teased him often saying that Chris Benoit was like E.F. Hutton…when he talks, everyone listens.

"I'll remember that." He told Chris, knowing that he could call the man at anytime, day or night and never be rebuffed. Chris Benoit was the full embodiment of a true friend…and Dave was glad that he could consider him one.

And so, rolling his cumbersome load behind him, Dave was on his way to a restaurant, for a late dinner meeting and an explanation, one that hopefully would placate his morbid curiosity and douse the smoldering embers of his anger.

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Nancy was rummaging absentmindedly through the kitchen pantry digging past food with one hand and using the other to massage her consistently throbbing lower back, when the desire for ordering take-out struck again. Too tired to cook, she acquiesced to her baby's craving, ordered the meal to be delivered and in sheer exhaustion, sank down into a dining room chair opening a copy of a gardening magazine. Her visit with Randy and Barren wasn't originally intended to turn into an all day affair, but it had…and she'd found that any preconceived notions that she might have had about Barren had dissipated once she had gotten to know the woman.

The two of them didn't seem to be all that different. At least on a few levels anyway. Of course they certainly both had the _wreck_ in common…and both women seemed to be a little lost…a little out of sorts. Nancy had no trouble identifying the source of her own absentmindedness, but when she looked at Barren, she could see and sense something deeper, lurking beneath the placid surface…sadness covered in smiles and laughter. Aspects of the woman reminded Nancy of herself, though she couldn't pin them down.

_…A full two hours after breakfast, the trio had found themselves still laughing and discussing everything from Randy's escapades with Dave in 'Evolution', to Barren's inability to do anything without her clumsiness endangering everyone around her. Many of the things that Nancy had learned about her husband, clarified a few of her misconceptions about him…and other things led her to believe that he may have been a lady's man before the two had met. That tiny suspicion pricked her ego. One thing she was learning swiftly was that he was a horrible tease and a relentless prankster, some of those lessons hadn't come from Randy's mouth, but from her own experience in the last few days and just thinking about it flustered her._

_But the biggest source of joy this morning for Nancy had come in the form of a new friendship. Randy had excused himself to the bathroom and a slight lull in the conversation gave way for a different discussion._

_"You seem happier today than when I last saw you." Barren remarked, her silver eyes sparkling as her mouth curved into a pretty smile. Her tight jaw-line was more apparent when she grinned. "I think that husband of yours stole your heart back."_

_Nancy wasn't sure if he had her heart, but he definitely had her eye…every time he came close she found herself staring…and he was catching on. "I still don't have those memories yet." She faltered and traced her forefinger over the pattern on the table cloth._

_"Then maybe it's just your pregnancy that has you looking like you just went on a cruise." Barren sipped her tea. "You look so much more peaceful…even Randy was remarking about that."_

_Nancy smiled, knowing full well that it wasn't only her pregnancy, and stared down at the finger still tracing. "I feel more peaceful, but I also have all sorts of questions and doubts…I'm not even so sure I should try to deal with it all right now or just wait for my memory."_

_"Why not?" Barren asked, wondering if this might be the chance she had been praying for. _

_Nancy laughed and shook her head. "It's stupid, really…I just have this vision of trying to confront the doubts and the questions, and they just chase me down and overtake me, like a defensive line…they just knock me down." She couldn't look at Barren, because she felt like an idiot for confessing her fears and even more so for the way she was describing them._

_"What sort of doubts?" Barren asked, knowing that she couldn't appear too eager or she ran the risk of forcing Nancy to clam up once again. _

_"Oh, it's silly." Nancy said, straightening up in the seat to ease the slight ache in her lower back, and in the hopes that the change of positions would encourage the baby to remove his foot from her ribs. The attempt didn't work on either account. "I shouldn't have said anything." Her laughter was light, dismissive._

_"It's not silly." Barren told her, and turned her gaze to the window, where the rain had stopped and given way to a wild, hateful wind. "I have doubts all the time, I doubt I'll ever see my parents again and I doubt that I'm doing the right thing where Randy's concerned." It was a risk, telling her anything, but to get something, sometimes you had to give something and so Barren spoon-fed a few choice details to Nancy for the benefit of forging a necessary friendship. It was critical that she sped things up, or else she might be forced to do some assertive snooping._

_"I'm really sorry to hear about your parents." Nancy told her with sincerity. "It must be frustrating, dealing with the immigration issues regarding your mother and the worries for your father. I don't know how you do it?" Nancy was reminded once again that she didn't have a mother or father to fall back on either…and though she couldn't remember all of the details, she had no desire to ask her husband to expound upon the few disturbing details he'd given her in the hospital. Delving too deeply into her parental history would just be too much on her already full plate._

_Barren laughed her angular face splitting into a look of admiration. "I don't know how _you_ do it." She told Nancy, pointing her finger. "Trying to make it through the day with no previous knowledge of how everything's supposed to go…and never mind trying to find your way around Seattle with a loss of memory, and being pregnant to top it off." Barren appeared sympathetic when she glanced at the firmly rounded belly across the table. "It must bother you not to be able to remember the first stages of everything."_

_Nancy nodded her agreement. It was bothersome that she couldn't remember the exact moment she'd learned that she was expecting, or that she had no recollection of the first flutters of movement that her baby had made. "It does…sometimes." Her voice was softer as she looked down at the child in her womb. "But maybe that's not so bad, because I'm told that I was nauseous most of the time…so not remembering that is no big deal."_

_"No kidding." Barren agreed. "I think most pregnant women would like to forget morning sickness. I know someday when I start a family that's one thing I could do without."_

_"I made peace with that…and I can't help but be excited about this baby, but I do have other things that bother me." Though she breached the subject skeptically, she was feeling a bit more like she might be able to trust Barren. "I don't know, I guess I sort of wonder if I might be hiding something from Dave." Nancy admitted, averting her eyes…ashamed that she even let the thought seep out of her steel-trap of a brain._

_Bingo! It couldn't possibly be permissible to hope against hope, Barren told herself. And though every fiber of her being screamed out for the key, she remained nearly motionless yet attentive, casual and vigilant…when what she really wanted to do was pounce. "Oh, really?" Barren asked smoothly, calmly, surprised that her suddenly dry mouth hadn't caused her voice to crack. Her inner voice roared in protest at her forced complacency. "Why would you feel that way?" She gently prompted._

_Nancy studied Barren for a long moment, noticing the dilation of her smoky grey eyes and the subtle, almost imperceptible clench of her strong jaw…and then Nancy finally decided against confiding in Barren about the key. Strangely, on the brink of telling her, an unknown source deep inside encouraged Nancy to wait, demanding her silence. "It's nothing…I'm just being a conspiracy theorist." Nancy finally said glibly. _

_Smiling and then looking away, she motioned for the waitress to bring the ticket, but it was intercepted and paid for by Randy who was finding his way back from the restroom. So that had been the end of it, the end of a pleasant morning that had run into lunchtime, leaving her with a few less hours to wonder what she should do with her day. Not only that, she had forged the foundation of a new friendship…_

And now it was evening, the doorbell was ringing, pulling Nancy out of her reverie, bringing forth a whoop of glee from Audrey who would gladly live on take-out food and forcing a groan from her fatigued body as she rose from her seat to pay the delivery driver.

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"It's a southern thing." Randy laughed as he explained to Barren why he was dropping peanuts one by one through the open top of his glass Coca-Cola bottle. "It's a salty-sweet sort of snack."

"That sounds like a badly botched commercial." Barren giggled as she sat across from Randy on the rug in front of the television with an episode of _Dog the Bounty Hunter_ for entertainment. "So why is it we're not watching your wrestling show?" She changed the subject.

Randy hadn't even been thinking about 'his wrestling show', so enthralled was he with the conversation and the card game between the two of them. "Well, because SmackDown is a taping that takes place several days prior to when it airs." He explained, feeling a twitch of sadness jerk through his heart over the fact that he had not been present for that taping. "We won't be seeing good ole' Dave until Friday night." As he lifted his face and glanced at her. His eyes twinkled, even though his half-smile didn't quite reach them.

Barren listened to the sigh of wistfulness as it hissed slowly past his lips and she could tell by his lax posture and his inability to meet her gaze that he was missing being in the ring. "Well, _I'm_ not disappointed… we can always watch wrestling on Friday…I'd rather play poker, personally." She pasted on a bright smile.

"Why?" He asked, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "You're losing."

"Are you sure I'm not just _letting_ you win, since I feel sorry for you?" Barren squinted one eye and pursed her lips into a very tempting pout, as she held the cards in a fan in one palm.

"Well in that case…" Randy suggested. "We should be playing the version where we…strip." His smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and then a single brow rose suggestively.

Barren stammered, suddenly caught off balance. "W-well…those rules have to be in place prior to the beginning of the game, otherwise you have to wait until _another_ game starts before you can…play that way." She swallowed tightly and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. His very presence was unnerving her…not to mention the implication of a poker game in which she ran the pleasant risk of ogling his naked body.

Funneling another round of peanuts into his cola, he snickered and then his gaze dead-locked on her glimmering silver eyes. "Those certainly _sound_ like viable rules…" he sipped the soda and then dealt a single card to her when she motioned for one more. "But a bigger part of me thinks that you're just all talk and no action."

"I-uh, I raise you…" She turned looking left and right for something more to bet and another way to stall. "Two corn chips, and 10 peanuts." The pair had decided against betting money and so instead had deemed snack foods more appropriate.

"Call." Randy tossed his ante into the pot, seeing her raise and then motioned by curling two fingers for her to show her hand. As he watched her facial expression revert from demure to daring, he was sincerely wishing that they'd been betting articles of clothing. Randy loved how she flipped her hair over her shoulder and taunted him, holding the hand and not letting him see it…he had an overwhelming desire to see the peaches and cream complexion that he knew was beneath her light sweater, beneath the soft satin pants. He suppressed a groan of torment when his loin tightened at the mere thought of her body…too bad they weren't stripping.

"A pair of Queens." She announced and then laughed showing a row of perfectly straight white teeth. Barren knew that a mere pair likely wouldn't pull out a win, but she was fully pleased with her ability to bluff, even if it as going to cost her all of her corn chips.

Randy scowled. "What a loser." He slapped his hand of cards down amongst the corn-chips and peanuts that lay haphazardly in the center pot. "Trip Aces…" He held both hands in the air as if he had scored a touchdown, looking toward God in heaven and spouting praises. He then pointed a finger at her and proudly affirmed. "Loooo-serrr!" Palming the bevy of salty snacks he gloated and announced with a suddenly eloquent, yet pleasant naiveté. "I do believe that the _former_ hand…was the _final_ hand of the _previous_ game, was it not?"

Barren who had been laughing at his exuberant display of victory, arched a brow at the implied challenge, aligning the scattered cards with delicate fingers so they could be shuffled. "It was." She admitted, simply.

A wicked smiled crept across Randy's face and then he quickly composed his features. "Well then I propose a _change_ in the rules."

His proposition was followed by a deafening silence as Barren contemplated the very tempting and exciting suggestion. "What sort of change?" She feigned ignorance as she shuffled the deck with the fluid ease of a Las Vegas dealer, the cards flying from one hand to the other and then back faster than his eye could even grasp. She would never tell Randy of how her father and brother had played cards with her as a child and that she had learned the fancy shuffle as a way to bluff and intimidate.

It occurred to Randy that she very well might _have_ been letting him win just to lull him into a false sense of security. "Well, I propose that we should up the stakes and bet articles of clothing this time." He made the suggestion without faltering and his twinkling eyes pinned her to the spot, demanding in silence, her answer.

"Are you sure you're willing to take the risk?" She asked, as a smile twitched behind her full lips, her pulse racing, and an electrifying sensation thrumming through her veins.

"I _am_ a risk-taker." He held his hands out to his sides.

Her face split wide with a grin, and she cut the deck in half with one hand, twirling the half and tucking it back in line. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

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As if the night couldn't have been any more catastrophic, it had turned out to be notably dreary and bone-chilling cold, to boot. Snow had been steadily pelting the ground, mixing with ice as it came down to create a thick slush that made the night unfit for man or beast. Even the thick wool trench coat that shrouded Dave Batista's body was little assistance in his attempt to keep warm. A knife-like gust of wind whipped the coat around his legs like a tangled flag against a lonely flagpole and he engaged the car alarm pacing toward the restaurant door with determined strides.

Upon entry he could see that the table that'd previously been meant for four men was now host to three of the original intended and one female tag along that he was praying would get lost on her way to the women's restroom. Dave let a puff of air seep out between pursed lips, narrowed his eyes and tucked his keys into the pocket of his slacks. He turned the ringer of his phone off, schooled his rigid expression and nodded acknowledgements to Johnny Ace, Ted Dibiase, Chris Masters and then tossed a stiff nod to Candace Michelle…someone who had never previously been announced as a part of the meeting.

All three men stood to their feet to shake hands with Dave Batista, and to his dismay the only remaining seat just happened to be between Candace and Ted. He had little choice but to subject himself to the torment of fending off her unwanted advances.

"It's a rough one out there tonight, isn't it?" Dibiase asked as his smile reached the width of his face. He was one of the more genuine men in the business and Dave appreciated that quality about him.

"Gonna make for a rough drive if they ground my flight." Dave answered obligatorily, not allowing his gaze to land on Candace, as it swept the table.

"I doubt we're in for more than a howler tonight…should clear up by the morning." Johnny told him. "You hungry? Anyone?" He asked of everyone present, but the offer fell flat in the midst of the nervous tension that cloaked the party. "Well if not, then we should all get down to business."

It was a lame announcement Dave thought, but he fully agreed. They should get down to business and be done with it so he could get to a hotel, attend his signing tomorrow and get the hell home. His marriage might be stagnate, but it was still preferable to an inordinate amount of time spent keeping his virtue intact and protecting his wedding vows from Candace and her forceful advances. He nodded to the men in front of him and cleared his throat. "I hope…what happened tonight has everything to do with me taking time off to be with my family, and not something else."

An exchanged glance between Candace and Chris had him a bit nervous, and he felt his jaw clench reflexively.

"I want to reassure you that we have every intention of keeping you in the loop." Johnny told him, in a decidedly succinct and businesslike manner.

"With all due respect, it didn't appear that way tonight…especially round about five minutes into the match." Dave said, leaning back into the chair and tucking his lower lip under his teeth. "I certainly didn't _feel_ like I was in the loop."

"It was a last minute decision made by _Creative_." Johnny explained. "Rather than transitioning your character out with a simple injury, they decided it would be better if we played it up with a rivalry, you know, give Chris a heel push. The injury ideally will occur during the pay-per-view at the end of the month."

"I know you're scheduled to take off after one more taping, but we do need you active and available for an extra week or so to build on what we've conceived." Ted Dibiase said with a hint of mystery. "We'll 'work' the injury and then we'll have you come in about once a week or so to do a taping, where we'll place you in situations and in places that make it appear as though you're hunting Chris."

"We'll hype your comeback for right about the time he's scheduled to win a match for the number one contender ship…at which point we'll set you up to covertly eliminate his opponent giving management no choice but to find another opponent…I'm sure you see where we're going with this." Johnny explained.

Dave nodded, and thanked the waitress who delivered his glass of ice-water. "Why the need for _her_?" He tilted his head without making eye contact, to indicate Candace.

"Of course we placed Candace in the middle because she will be the antagonist in the whole mix…over the course of several weeks she will play an adversarial role and then after Chris loses to you, we'll place her somewhere in the middle. In what fashion, we haven't yet determined, but we know that the female factor in a rivalry involving _you_ always sells tickets." Johnny went further. "It went over well when you began to date Nancy and the fans really need something else to rev up SmackDown."

"Why not use a SmackDown Diva then?" Dave offered up.

A peal of tinkling laughter, next to him grated on his nerves and then he heard her speak up, without being asked. "I can't speak for _everyone_ involved, but I definitely feel honored to be working with such big name talent and I love the idea that I was chosen for a cross-brand rivalry." Though he wasn't looking at her, he could imagine the words dripping like warm honey across her full lips. In his mind's eye he could envision her eyes, a hooded expression and a sensuous round of rapid blinking…something she was still convinced was appealing.

Dave hadn't missed the twinkle of amusement in Johnny Ace's eyes and so he wondered who in the world had decided to place her in the role. "So why not a SmackDown Diva?" he asked once again, patiently...covering his aggravation despite the level of difficulty in the restraint.

Ted stirred his coffee as he spoke. "Candace is just a far more interesting heel than any of the ladies on SmackDown…it was simply a sound decision from a creative standpoint."

Dave knew that he had no choice but to adhere to the wishes of the Creative team, but he didn't have to like it…and he didn't have to be a luxury for Candace in the process. And so until Creative tired of toying with the new idea, he just had to make certain that in order to prevent a disaster where his reputation and marriage were concerned he had to keep himself in public places when Candace was around—and one step ahead of her when she wasn't.

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A devious glimmer rippled through her glittering eyes and she suppressed the smile that fought behind the shelter of her lips. The sight of Randy Orton in front of her, cross-legged on the floor in nothing more than boxer-briefs had her blushing inwardly and warring with the temptation to succumb to an imminent fit of mirth. His expressive eyes were slanted in frustration, with the fringe of dark, unkempt bangs, barely obscuring his irritation.

"Are you ready to cry _'Uncle'_ yet?" Barren teased as she shifted her seating position, and tugged animatedly at her pants and shirt, glorying in her advantage.

Randy glowered darkly, quite obviously peeved by the fact that he was losing and then he sniffed once and fiddled with his cards. "You know…if I end up completely nude after this hand, then it's sort of like we _both_ win." His trademark smirk, disguised any nervousness he might have felt.

"Oh, is that a fact?" And even as the words left her mouth, she knew damned well it _was_ a fact. There was no denying that the man in front of her was _all_ man…and then some. As masculine and handsome as they came, Randy Orton was easily the object of countless young women's fantasies. He had been blessed with dark glossy hair that most times fell exactly where it belonged and looked fantastic even when it was in complete disarray. His countenance was striking, with a dark, enigmatic quality that turned your head and commanded your attention whether you had intended to look or not…a smirk or smile, a frown or a neutral expression…nothing could mar the natural raw appeal of his face.

Her tongue subconsciously darted out to rewet her lips as she imagined how his mouth had felt on hers…and her hands with a mind of their own ached to reach out and stroke the length of his well sculpted chest, and down over the rigidly defined abs. He was right…the sight of him in all of his glory would make them _both_ winners…or losers, depending on how far they allowed things to go. _'Stop it!'_ she commanded herself, wrenching her head up to look at his face and fighting the furious blush she was certain had settled on her cheekbones.

She was positive he'd caught her staring, for his smirk had melted into a serious expression of need, he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth for a split second and then released it…the sight of which forced a tremor of wanting through her body. If they both made it through the night without taking cold showers, Barren would be surprised. "I have two pair." Her voice floated out as a whisper, followed by a deep quaking breath.

Randy speared her with a hotter than hot, dead-on gaze that sent an intensely warm shiver spiraling through her core, followed by the familiar cadence of a nervous heartbeat. The knowing smile drifted across his face, turning again to a self-satisfied grin as he announced that he had a 'Full House'. "I think this signals the start of a rift in your winning streak." He too spoke in a silken voice, a hint of sensuality weaving through his words. Her expression of shock was quickly concealed, as she proudly covered it with a look of neutrality. He watched the conflict of feelings as they battled subtly in her expression. Did she have to be so naturally beautiful? Inside and out? And why did the cinnamon hued tresses have to catch the firelight with the skill and beauty of a prism, blazing around her face like a flame?

He wanted to feel those strands caress his bare chest as she rose above him in his bed and straddled him…so strong was the temptation to lay his hand against the gentle slope of her neck and pull her against his body, that he had to remind himself of where he was and what he was doing. This was poker…an innocent game of poker, and he was supposed to be keeping his distance. But the essence of Barren was a spell swirling around him so intoxicating that he would have done anything she asked of him…and much more that she had not. For the first time in Randy Orton's life he was absolutely captivated by a woman…not just attracted, but utterly awestruck. He wanted Barren O'Neil beneath him, beside him in everything he did…clumsy, calamitous Barren…white-hot, explosive Barren.

She put the fingers of one hand to her forehead and crinkled her nose, suddenly intimidated by the flickering attraction that snapped back and forth between them like an out of control electrical current. But a bet was a bet and Barren was honorable if nothing else. Her lean muscular arms crossed over one another at the bottom hem of the thin sweater, grasping the soft knit…she lifted it slowly over her torso and head, pulling with it the lustrous auburn locks, creating a static that only served to make the mane more voluminous.

Each arm in turn was pulled from the sleeves of the sweater as she cast it aside revealing for Randy a body that had been honed to a level of fitness that was a combination of firm and athletic, yet soft and womanly. A delicate lacy bra in pale blue revealed a hint of hardened, pink nipples as they rose from the well rounded, pert breasts, pressing against the fabric. If his throat hadn't suddenly become so dry, Randy was quite certain that his mouth would have been watering with the need to taste those perfect pink buds. A distinguishable set of abs gave her the appearance of a very feminine six-pack and he had the strangest vision of her arching backward on the bed allowing his tongue to trace the contours of the torso and ab muscles, while her hands wound through his hair.

Her naval was adorned with a dainty naval ring…a four leaf clover with green stones, befitting her Irish heritage. Randy longed to tease that piece of jewelry and the skin below it with his tongue, while his hands encircled her tiny waist pulling her into the blessed prison of his embrace. She had strong yet soft shoulders that glistened, smooth pale skin even more appealing in the changing light created by the crackling fire. It begged to be stroked, kissed…by him. "It's your deal." He announced his voice thick, almost harsh.

Barren could only nod, because speaking would put her at risk of saying something very unladylike, something unequivocally sexual. Her slender hands trembled visibly as she reached for the deck, blood pulsing loudly through her ears making concentration on anything other than her body's obvious response to him, impossible. The air around her seemed to tingle, electrified, highly charged by _his_ heat, his essence, so much so that she could feel the air seem to crackle around her nearly bare upper body, like a fiery whip.

Strangely Barren found that she held no further desire to finish the game…but every desire to shed herself of the remainder of her clothing and explore the delightful prospect of making love to Randy Orton. Looking at his face and the sudden tight contraction of the muscles in his arms she could clearly visualize him embracing her, launching an assault on her breasts and neck with his lips as he thrust into her steadily, smoothly. She found she could not shake it, so strong was the yearning, that she dropped the cards into the pot, feeling a liquid throb at her center. "Randy, I…"

No words…he nodded his head as if to say he knew and that it wasn't necessary for her to speak at all. A fluid motion had him grasping her wrists and pulling her the few feet from her seat on the floor, to a kneeling position above his lap, her knees on either side of his waist as his back was pressed against the edge of the sofa. His hands were still holding her wrists when she leaned down and brazenly touched her lips to his, smothering a moan as he curled her wrists behind her back pulling her against the hard wall of his chest. The softness of his lips tantalized, teased and coaxed her mouth to open and he tasted her sweetness, drinking her in…holding her captive.

Silken hair was a feather-light caress against his heated flesh as it fell over his shoulder when her breasts met and pressed against his chest. Randy felt his sex jerk in response to her body so near and her lips gliding over his and though she was still in a raised straddle above him, he knew _she_ was aware of his need, because the hardened tip of his manhood teased the flesh of her inner thigh, even through the fabric that separated them, less than a hairsbreadth from the entrance to her femininity.

A groan of need and a shudder coursed through her body when she felt him, hard and thick against her leg…everything within her begged to be completed by him. Barren was in pure heaven with the massage of his lips as they traveled over her chin and down the curve of her neck to taste and suckle the tender pulsing flesh in the hollow. In his eagerness he released her hands and they flew up to grip his muscular shoulders and then to cradle the back of his head as he kissed ever lower, his tongue relentlessly laving the flesh between her breasts.

She didn't protest as his large and skilled hands rose between them to graze and palm her breasts through the fabric of her bra. Soft begging…it was her voice, though she didn't recall making the request and as soon as he heard her, he easily rid her of the lacy undergarment, freeing her breasts for his view. "Randy…please…" The words tore from her throat, a ragged whisper and she pulled his head closer to her, quivering violently when his warm mouth closed over one hardened nipple.

He heard her gasp and held her torso with his hands as she shook. His tongue tracing a lazy circle around her nipple had her hips suddenly pressing forward against the flesh of his upper abdomen. She tasted like sweetness, a subtle sweetness that had his tongue craving more as he pulled the nipple into his mouth, molding his hands to her flesh. His cock throbbed, aching, engorged…needing her, and every time her body moved, the flesh of her thigh rubbed once more against his shaft…a terrible taunting stroke that made him wish she'd taken off her pants instead of her sweater. In response to his body's silent imploring, he allowed his curious hands to slide down the curve of her lower back and squeeze firmly around the fullness of her backside. Pulling her harder against him, he reveled in the swift tingle the action created in the head of his shaft.

And he would never have his fill of her breasts, he realized, as he kissed and nibbled, his senses drowning in her soft gasps and a purring moan as it rolled from her lips. Her head thrown back as she let him explore her body was a sight so erotic that he could scarcely hold off from throwing her backward and taking her fully without the benefit of kisses and touching. "I want this." He confessed against the flesh of her breast as he drew the nipple into his mouth once more, rolling his tongue around the bud feeling it harden for him.

She whimpered lowering her hips just enough for her to feel the thickness of him. "I need this." Her words were a breathless admission of her desire, as her fingers tugged his head away from her breasts. Fingers in his hair, holding his face so she could look at him, she drank in the glaze of yearning that pooled in his eyes. Controlling, demanding…her mouth slanted with force over his tasting him in a blinding rush of passion.

Barren's hips rose above him once more as his hands grasped the hem of her silken pants, pulling them down to the middle of her thighs. Randy's flat palm pressed against her belly, fingers dipping into the hollows created by the hardened wall of her very feminine abdominal muscles and then his hand slid downward torturously slow, fingers roving over the lace of her panties until his thumb curved gently to press against her most sensitive place, igniting a heat and a swell. With his mouth on hers, he swallowed her whimper, as his other hand pulled the delicate panties down over her round derriere and to the middle of her thighs. Strong hands found their way around to her lower back and pulled her forward against his chest, glorying again in the feel of her bare breasts as they brushed against his highly sensitized skin. There was no resistance as his fingers roamed her back and her rounded hips, thumbs grazing the hipbones above her thighs, slowly cherishing, and memorizing the landscape of her body.

Barren could only react as she felt the play of his fingers over her belly and down to the apex of her thighs, where he parted her and teased her sensitive center with a thumb. Barren had no grasp of logic, no sense of reason…her head swam as the sensations of heat and pressure began to build within her, swirl around her…placing her off kilter. There were no painful reminders of Duncan, or the rest. No chase…no hunt, no capture. There was nothing but the soft coaxing of his hand and the need for both to find something, feel something. She captured his face with her hands as the sensation built within her, slanting her lips on his she plundered the recesses of his mouth, gently rolling her hips as he caressed her, teased her, tested her.

He could take no more and he could swear she'd known it. Pressing both hands on the floor, he pushed himself up with her on top of him, and then carefully laid her back on the rug. She was breathless and beautiful and he wanted to be deep inside of her when she found her release. Randy laughed softly, as soon as her back touched the floor, for she was fighting to rid herself _and_ him of the few remaining garments, and only succeeded in tangling them in her hopeless attempt. "No." He shook his head and told her, his voice profound and soft, a smile drifting across his face as he watched her. "Let me." He grasped her wrists and laid her hands softly to her side, watching the expression on her face flicker between embarrassment at her ineptitude and heated, impassioned anticipation. Randy glided one forefinger over her face as she lay there breathing deeply…down the slope of her nose to rest on her lips which he then kissed softly. "Clumsy Barren…" His lips whispered against hers. "I want every part of you."

He felt her tremble and it made him harden. Her breasts, soft and firm, under that same roving finger….down, between them, over her belly…one finger became all of his fingertips and he glided the hand over her thigh and down to her knees where the clothing had become a tangled barrier. Randy easily unraveled the mess with long skilled fingers and pulled the clothing off, casting it aside. His own last article of clothing was long gone, easily ridden while she had been previously fighting with hers. Nothing left to stop them both, he leaned over her, intent on asking if she was sure that she wished to continue. There was no need for those words, for Barren was lifting her arms, sliding her palms up Randy's muscular forearms curling her fingers around his biceps. "Now…" Was her gentle encouragement and he nudged her thighs apart with his knees.

Poised above her for a long moment, he pondered what he was about to do. Surprising he could even think when he took into account the fog that her spell had put him in. There was no love in this, not on her part…and he wanted to believe that there was nothing more here than physical attraction on his part, but he knew better. Her breathing increased, confusion at his hesitation lit in her eyes and he bent over kissing her deeply, attempting to drown out everything but the image of her there beneath him. He pressed against her with the head of his shaft and his lips on her throat vibrated when she groaned. He laughed when she raised her hips trying to force him inside of her, and he pulled his manhood just out of her reach, determined to tease her…for as long as he himself was able to hold off.

"What's wrong?" He whispered as he let his teeth scrape her collarbone with the softest of movements. "Is there something you wanted?"

He was mocking, taunting. Barren was still reeling from the caress of his fingers, and the muscles of her stomach clenched reflexively when she felt his teeth. "Randy, don't tease." Her words were a breathless whine, as she thrust her fingers into the hair on his head and let her legs fall wider apart in the hopes he'd take it as an invitation to finish what he'd started. "Please…if you," she gasped when his lips tugged gently at her nipple, "I can't…I don't…" and she nearly shouted when the gentle nibble of his teeth followed afterward.

"Trouble getting your words out, Barren?" Randy murmured, and then traced a path with his tongue over her stomach to the Four Leaf Clover that adorned her tiny belly button. Out of reaction and the need to feel her, he lifted one of her toned legs upward and placed it over his shoulder as he sucked gently on her navel, his tongue flicking the jewelry.

"Randy! Oh…you have to…I…" She nearly hissed in her incoherent babbling. Scarcely unable to picture little more than his face between her thighs and just as eagerly wishing for it, Barren cried out and lifted her hips when she felt his mouth on the uppermost part of her inner thigh. Nothing but unintelligible begging spewed forth when she felt his tongue glide out to tease the already sensitive, swollen nub in the same way that his fingers had done only moments before. Gasps and ragged breathing, words she didn't know she knew in a native language she knew that he _couldn't_ know, were all that could be heard as his mouth worked a magic on her that obliterated her worries, stole away her sense of anything other than the feel of his hair through her fingers as she clutched at his head, bringing the stroke of his tongue closer, more fully into her.

Barren was writhing beneath him, murmuring, whimpering and it was driving him beyond any semblance of control. The honeyed taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her body pinned beneath him…all of it bound him like a prisoner to her. Barren might have been captive to his kisses at present, but he was her slave…and he wasn't about to deny it. "Let me make love to you." He asked with sensation…giving up the pursuit to tease her, rising up above her.

"Oh, God…please…" She held his face between her palms as her breathing became shallow, her eyes full of a pained glaze of wanting. "I need you."

He aligned himself against her and then with no hesitation he plunged inside of her, shattering every excuse, every doubt with one thrust. Randy very nearly growled when he felt Barren quiver, heard her whimper. Her core conformed quickly, tightly around him. She was hot and slick over his shaft as he moved slowly, deeply seating his hips in the cradle of her pelvis. Never before had he found it impossible to form a sensible thought while inside of a woman…never had he been devoid of anything other than the image of her face filled with passion…never had he lacked control. And as he made love to Barren on the floor in front of a crackling fire, he watched…just watched with amazement at her face as she experienced him. Desire, pooling in the molten silver depths as her eyes stayed focused on him...her lip tucked between her teeth until a purr spilled forth when he rotated his hips and ground into her.

Randy's nostrils flared slightly and his jaw clenched with restrained craving, as she smiled and let her eyes flutter shut, lifting her hips gently to meet his thrusts. He was dangerously close to release, as the coil rotated and tightened in his belly. And her hands on his lower back, her sudden tight grasp on his backside wasn't helping him hold off. But he could sense her impending orgasm, for he heard her breathing change, watched her eyes fly open, felt the subtle tightening of the muscles inside the walls of her sheath. Her hands left his backside to grip his shoulders tightly as she whispered, begged, threatened…her hips rocking erratically and her back slowly forming an arch.

Randy slid his hardened length almost fully out until he heard her cry of protest, felt her legs clench as if to recapture him, and then he slammed fully back into her. She cried out again as he continued twice more and he witnessed, heard and felt her body be swept away by a tidal wave. Amazed by the pleasure, the awe and the sliver of naughty satisfaction he saw glimmer in her eyes as she was completed, Randy finally succumbed to the painfully sweet satiation of his own orgasm. Brought along by her sounds and her inner throbbing, he finally went with her, shaken to his core as he let wave after wave of hot sensation wash over him.

And for Barren, the melding of body and soul with Randy Orton, which should have been little more than mutual satisfaction…was, to her dismay, the hallucinatory drug that covered and destroyed every previous sexual encounter…it robbed her of the image of Owen, onto which she had been holding. The touch of Randy's hand, the kiss of his lips had knocked her completely off course, tipped the scales in his favor…rattled her ability to remember what it was she had originally intended to do…and for a single moment she knew exactly what it was like to have amnesia.

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A sigh mixed with a moan of satisfaction erupted from Nancy's lips as she sank back against the fluffy pillows in the massive bed, finally giving into her exhaustion. Book in hand and baby kicking, she was prepared to read on about the wonders and woes of childbirth until her eyes finally closed on their own, but round about page 31, the phone on the nightstand trilled, causing her to jump, and the boy in her belly to react with a start…and a sharp kick. She groaned and fought with the covers, lating aside the book and wielding the twenty pound tummy so she could retrieve the wildly ringing phone.

"Hello." She said as she balanced the phone, nearly losing it as she battled to regain her reclining position on the high bed.

"I'm sorry it's so late." She heard him say.

A warm sensation trickled through her when she heard the deep resonance of his voice vibrate through the speaker against her ear. "I was just reading." Nancy told him hoping he hadn't thought he would be waking her.

And he suddenly didn't know what to say to her. Dave had dialed the number as was so common when he was on the road. Calling to share his day with her, wanting and needing for her to share the details of hers with him…desperate for her to say something that would make him feel better when he was in a bad mood or something that would reaffirm for him how much she loved him. Tonight should have been no different…only it was, because he wanted the same routine…because he needed to hear her voice…because after what he was facing, he needed to feel her comfort him. "You haven't had any problems today, I hope?" He finally asked and he did hope…but not just for that.

"No, none." She told him, sensing in his voice that he was tired, bothered. "Everything went fine…I even got Audrey to school, despite practically having to use the 'Jaws of Life' to get her out of the front seat." She laughed gently. "I don't understand why she hates to go."

She couldn't possibly have known what the tiny laugh had done for his deflated spirit, or what the endearing tone when she spoke of his daughter had done for his wounded pride. "I think she's appointed herself as your personal shadow…she doesn't seem to wanna leave your side." He leaned against the headboard, trying to imagine if his wife was doing the same.

Nancy smiled, thinking of firecracker Audrey, spry and full of life…she was just like her father. But not tonight, he didn't seem himself and she found she was troubled, very troubled by it…though she didn't know why. "Are you all right?" The words popped out before she could call them back, but she didn't regret it…it seemed natural.

The thought that she might be concerned, hit him hard and he felt his throat clog. She did care…she didn't know it, but she did and he found himself wishing he was there, with his head in her lap, eyes closed while she caressed his face and ran her fingers gently over his chest. He wanted to lay there and let her minister to him while he pouted…he wanted her to indulge him and let him be a big brat. "Well, the creative team changed the format of a storyline and it complicated things a bit."

Why did she have the urge to sooth him? How was it that she could imagine a grown-up pout forming on those full lips from hundreds of miles away? "I'm sorry." She told him. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do?" she asked gently, envisioning him in a state of moping. "What do I normally do?" she asked.

It made him laugh. "If I tell you what you normally do when I'm in a bad mood, you'd hang up on me." His voice was peppered with silken naughtiness and he knew without seeing her that she was blushing madly. He half expected to hear a sigh of exasperation and was surprised…and pleased when she simply laughed and then told him that she was sorry he'd had a rough day.

"_I_ had a very _interesting_ day." She told him without breaking stride, mostly to change the subject, but partly as an attempt to clear the vision of her soothing away his hurts with soft words and heated touches.

"Did you?"

"I did." She confirmed. "Randy and Barren came over this morning." She waited for a response, and when he murmured, she continued. "They offered to help me if I needed anything, and then they took me for breakfast."

"That was nice." He supplied, leaving out the hesitation he felt about the woman who was now currently involved with his friend. "How did that go?"

"She's very interesting, Dave."

He loved the sound of his name on her lips…like an intimate touch every time she said it, it caused urges in him that he was barely able to suppress…and she had no clue what the tiny sound of her voice speaking his name was doing.

"Barren's nice and she's funny…and I _think_…I'm not sure, but I could swear Randy has a thing for her." Nancy laughed. "You know him better, obviously…but they couldn't keep their eyes off of each other, even when they were talking about other people."

"What other people?"

"Well, _you_…namely." Nancy told him and found that the recollection of his antics had her smiling. "I found the whole story of your travels with him very _enlightening_…"

He let his head fall back against the headboard and laughed loudly. Somehow Dave had known that Randy would make her aware of his childish pranks. "I will never lay claim to any of those rumors, Nancy…I swear it's all lies, every word of it."

Why did the sound of his laughter remind of smooth whiskey? Why did it cause a heated knot in her belly? And how was it possible that her mind's eye could see him on that hotel bed, shirtless, reclining against the headboard with the phone cradled on his shoulder? Oh Lord, she could even swear that his arms flexed as he adjusted the pillow behind him, or maybe she could even see his tight, rigid abs contract as he lifted one leg and crossed it over the other.

"Hello?"

She was snatched from the fantasy by his voice prompting her, and she cleared her mind first and then her throat. "Well let me just say that if I ever encounter a toilet seat that you've rigged with saran wrap and Vaseline, I'll—"

"You'll what?" He taunted softly, yearning to hear her detail unspeakable tortures, ones that included the assault of her mouth on his body, her hands on his chest. He sighed at the mere thought of it.

"I'll let you use your imagination." Though she had meant for it to sound like a mild threat, it hadn't…not to his ears surely, and not to hers either. It sounded strangely like a sweet invitation.

Knowing he had to put a stop to the direction he was taking her or else he would ruin his career by flying home this minute to subject her to his 'imagination', he regretfully changed the subject. "What else did you do today?"

"Oh, well…I helped Audrey with Math, which I guess I'm pretty good at." She informed him. "But who wouldn't be good at Second Grade Math?" She switched the phone to her other ear. "Ooh! I forgot…Audrey has an indoor soccer scrimmage tomorrow night and then practice on Friday afternoon."

She must have found her day-planner. He smiled, imagining how she might have been rifling around looking for bits and pieces of her life. "Ah, so you _were_ snooping." He announced, feeling the need to tease her once more and feeling the ache of not being able to see the look of exasperation on her pretty face.

"It's not snooping if it's out in the open." She said scowling. "Besides you're a zillion miles away and like I said this morning, there's nothing you can do about it."

Oh, what an appealing challenge it was and he hardened at the thought of meeting it. "Am I in that Day Planner somewhere?" And he knew even as he asked, that he was…for he had glanced in it just this morning to see when her next doctor's appointment was and had been reminded of a lunch date that they'd planned over a month ago in the café down the street…a favorite place for the both of them.

Her fingers glided over the page, over the letters of her hand, where she had scribbled a date and time in with a flourish, and her heart thumped wildly when she saw the words, _'Lunch with Dave…dessert at home'_. Her mouth formed a round 'O' at the realization that she had planned more than just a lunch date, they had planned a rendezvous…and the laugh on the other end of the phone told her that he _knew_. "Um…" She began with a stammer and then the heartbeat in her throat stopped her.

"So what else do you have planned for the next few days?" The thought of her being flustered, tripped up, had him grinning from ear to ear.

"I thought since I'm so close to my due date…well a month is close…" She laughed. "I would do some shopping. Even though his nursery's finished, there's nothing in there for the baby other than a crib." The disappointment in her voice hurt his feelings.

"Oh, Sweetheart." He said. "Apparently you didn't snoop in _his_ room very well did you?"

And when she thought about it, she realized that she hadn't. Nancy had been so busy trying to figure out the mystery of that cursed key, that she hadn't even been thinking about her priority…preparing for her baby.

"Go check his closet." Dave said gently. "Not now, but in the morning…you bought half of what he needed the first day you found out he was on his way."

"I did?" She asked softly…needing the reassurance that she had been excited about the baby's arrival, that she had prepared for him, wanted him.

He felt a sweet pang of fondness when he remembered how he had come home from the airport and found her on the living room floor in the middle of a seemingly endless pile of packages. Tearfully happy, half laughing-half crying, she had held up the paper from her doctor, proof of her pregnancy. Dave remembered picking her up out of that pile after he'd read the paper from top to bottom…holding her, crushing her in his embrace.

He remembered the words she had said, by heart…they were chiseled there…deep inside him just as the memory was. "I'm sorry…" She had said, laughing and crying, he had been able to feel her tears, moist and hot on his neck, as he had lifted her off of the ground and buried his face in her hair, able to do little more than just hold her. "I couldn't wait, I know I went crazy…I spent a fortune…I don't care, I just couldn't help it!" She confessed, her voice had been muffled against his neck. Ecstatic…struck silent he was…and all he'd cared about was _her_…and the fact that he was about to be a father…again.

The memory made him grin, but it ripped at the soft shield over his heart, because he wanted her to remember it also…it was one of the most special moments in her life…and he just knew that somehow she ought to be able to recall it. "You did." He confirmed. "Trust me, just look through his dresser and in the organizer in his closet…you'll find loads of stuff…it's all put away nicely, because you're a lot more organized than I am."

"I am?" Nancy croaked. "Then why is my studio a wreck? It looks like someone drove a Sherman Tank through it!"

She had him laughing again. "It's a wreck because Max is running the business until you get ready to take it back in hand." And Dave couldn't help but be amused at her comment about the tank, because it's something she would have said…something so much a part of her. "Normally it's not a mess, so don't worry…you're not a slob."

"Oh, thank God." Nancy let her hand press against her belly trying to extract the ever present foot in the ribs. "I was worried about that." She felt a fondness for Max despite his messiness and so she didn't feel the need to badger him about the mess…moreover she wasn't ready to take the studio back in hand and so she would let him have the run of the mill until she had her right mind back. But despite that fact, she had an overwhelming desire to play a joke on the man. "Wouldn't it be fun if I hired someone to pack all of the machines and fabric away and make him think I had decided to shut things down…just to teach him a lesson?"

And there it was, once again…the glimpse of her true self peeking through the haze of unknowing. Dave knew that she was in there…and that she would emerge from the cocoon of amnesia intact…he just prayed that it was sooner than later. And he chuckled at the suggestion she made, because it was entirely like something she might do to her robust best buddy. "I could give you a few ideas…some pranks to play that would teach him a lesson and save you the hassle of having to hire someone…just so long as you never let Audrey in on it, because if you do…it'll be more than the rigging of a toilet seat that we both have to worry about."

"I might have to resort to taking your suggestions…sometime." She said adjusting positions to encourage her son's removal of his tiny foot from her ribs. He was stubborn. The foot stayed. "I hope tomorrow's a better day for you." She told him, her voice softening, indicating for him that she truly wished it.

"It will be." He said…and it would be, because thoughts of the emotional connection they had made tonight would carry him through until he could make it home. "And maybe, while you're snooping again tomorrow, you can find my Christmas present." He teased.

Grinning, she announced. "And when I do, I'll hide it again…just because you said that." She loved the sound of his laughter…it warmed her, touched her.

"Kiss the girls for me…tell that baby I love him." He asked of her.

"I will." Nancy smiled at his charming words, but his next request sent a lightening bolt of white hot desire straight to her core.

His voice was deep, dark and feral, yet sensual and insinuating as he told her. "And then…ask his Mommy if she's still free for that lunch date…and dessert…at home."

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**_Author's Notes – I wanted to take the opportunity to thank the true Dave Batista fans out there who would love my story in spite of the slight inaccuracies in the facts that comprise his fan-fiction life and most especially for the typo's that I miss before posting! I thought I also should take the time to answer a few questions, so here goes._**

_**Lizzie will not be back in a primary role until my next fiction, but she was such a great peripheral character and so down to earth, that I have to put her back in at some point. Also because of Disco Inferno and her constant consistent reviews…I will give you Lizzie (winks)!**_

_**I also wanted to tell people why I wrote Dave's life the way I did. Although I am a Batista fanatic and a member of several of his fan clubs, I chose to alter his character partially because I think it creeps people out to read about themselves in a fiction sense when everything is exactly the same as their real life. Another reason that I switched things up is for the purpose of flow…two teenagers in the story, which is what Dave has is a bit boring to the reader, (no offense Dave) unless they are twins, or diametric opposites, etc. I also whittled things down so that one previous marriage was all I had to account for since I wished to insert an original character as his love interest…it just simplified things so that I could include those characters from a previous marriage and not have to give the plethora of background information that two previous marriages would have necessitated.**_

_**Audrey, though not based on Dave's real life child (that I know of) was a child character after my own heart and I had been kicking the idea of that character around for over two years, not quite certain into which fic I should place her. Of course after I began to outline UNCOMMON SENSE, I discovered that Audrey was the perfect daughter in place of a second teenager and the spice that gave Dave's 'father' character another facet altogether.**_

_**I appreciate all of the questions that you guys take the time to ask, because it really helps me when I've left something out or when I hadn't thought of a particular aspect, plus it tells me that you care about the meat and potatoes of the story enough to ask.**_

_**I also welcome constructive criticism, so please feel free to tell me when I haven't done something right…and flame-like reviews are great too, because it gives me a chance to use my voodoo dolls! (Just kidding…I don't have voodoo dolls, but I could learn to make some.)**_

_**Again, thank you all for your steady reviews, I check my e-mail constantly because getting those reviews is like getting little gifts everyday, I love it!!**_


	18. Chapter 17

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 17

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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Think about a woman. Doesn't know you're thinking about her. Doesn't care you're thinking about her. Makes you think about her even more.

**Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman**, _Northern Exposure, The Bumpy Road to Love, 1991_

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A fresh, steaming mug of coffee after a large breakfast and a half hour scanning over a local newspaper, taking in details of conflict and attacks near The Gaza Strip in Israel did little to deter his mind from wandering toward thoughts of his wife. And every time it did so, a devious smile crept over his features and a familiar heat filled him from head to toe. Each time he recalled the conversation from the previous night, the emotional connection that they had made, he was more solidly reassured that she would emerge from the shroud of her amnesia unscathed, and each time he thought about her bent over snooping through every last nook and cranny looking for his Christmas gift so she could re-hide it, he wanted to laugh. Last night had certainly been a breakthrough, the sudden fragile bond coming out of nowhere…It was as if the two of them had somehow transcended the issue of her memory loss and taken a wholly different path…toward the same destination he hoped.

And if he wasn't mistaken he was even tempted to think she had been flirting with him, testing him. The thought almost made him laugh out loud…his wife flirting with him. It wouldn't be so out of the ordinary unless you took into account the fact that mere days ago she had been less than eager to be in his company. But with her unassuming attitude on the phone and the level of exhilaration that came along with the verbal encounter, there was a certain sense of new beginnings, almost parallel to the very birth of their relationship several years ago. Pondering that logic, the words of his friend came back to him. _'Look at it this way… How many men can say that they had the opportunity to make their wife fall in love with them twice in one lifetime?'_

And those words were _true_…he could call their situation a curse or a blessing. It was all in how he chose to view it…and right now, Dave Batista was seeing it as a blessing. But despite the joy that he was feeling this morning over the recent baby steps in his marriage, he was hesitant about having chosen to dine in the hotel restaurant prior to attending his signing. He was short on time and fairly unenthusiastic about tracking down a diner…not to mention it was a risk, being out in the open, considering that Candace Michelle was staying in the same hotel. And therefore all Dave Batista could do was pray in earnest that she would have a craving for Denny's and skip the hotel restaurant all together.

He pushed his near invisible wire framed glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and then snapped the paper open once more to resume his reading when he heard the hiss of excited chatter coming from somewhere behind him. Turning to see what the commotion was about only served as a late warning and though he suddenly wished he could hide; simply melt into the landscape, he'd already been spotted and there was nothing he could do. He saw two bus boys eagerly thrusting a playboy, one they'd likely stolen from their father's collection, toward Candace who had a sharpie in hand signing her spread and gifting the two pre-pubescent boys with her most dazzling smile. With one eye, she winked seductively toward the retreating bus boys and then turning her head looking over her shoulder, she pinned Dave with a narrow-eyed glance that made his blood run cold. Hips swaying wearing a skirt that was far too revealing for this early in the day, her footsteps carried her through a maze of tables in a direct trek toward him.

"Sonuva bitch." He muttered under his breath, wondering how in the hell she'd managed to come through the back of the restaurant instead of through the front door where he might have had a chance to dive under a table, or make a mad dash for the safety of the men's room, at the very least.

Before Dave could gather his belongings, and flag his waitress down so that he could pay his bill, he felt the silken caress of a hand on the back of his neck and then her voice in his ear. "I thought you'd be here." She let the hand fall gently away as she strode around and seated herself directly across from him, tugging the linen napkin from the table top, sweeping it gracefully into her lap. Candace crossed one leg over the other and with a perfectly manicured finger, she gestured impatiently for the waitress.

Dave sighed and clenched his jaw in frustration, folding the newspaper and tossing it next to his coffee mug. "I don't think you paid attention the other day at the airport when I told you to stay away from me."

"I'm surprised you had the presence of mind to say _anything_ at the airport…I know _my_ mind was elsewhere." Candace told him, with her lips curving into a pout and both eyebrows raised implying her indisputable innocence, but not fully camouflaging her wickedness.

Dave Batista was incensed and he opened his mouth prepared to give way to a bitterly sarcastic remark, but the shadow of the approaching waitress halted him, and he closed his mouth once more and leaned back in the chair, opting to be discreet.

Candace swept her caustic gaze from the man in front of her to the waitress and then fired off her order in rapid succession, an edge of superiority in her voice. "Two eggs, poached. Soft, but not runny. Rye toast, and ice water with a slice of lemon…this is on one ticket." She snatched up the leather bound ticket book containing his bill the very second that the waitress laid it on the table in front of Dave, and then waved the waitress away with a dismissive flick of her slender wrist.

Her expression changed noticeably, her gaze landing on his face and scanning it as if she wished to find something affectionate behind his eyes. "It's not a regular occurrence that I get to treat a handsome man to breakfast." Her voice was high…whiney, and the phony laughter that followed reminded him of someone shattering priceless Wedgwood china dishes on a floor.

He straightened up in the chair. "Well maybe if you'd pay a little more attention to your _husband_, the number of occurrences would increase…you know I hear he's a nice guy…too bad you didn't get that memo yet."

Another laugh, grating and abrasive it swirled around him like shards of glass, cutting, annoying. He suddenly longed for the silkier, more musical laugh of his wife. Oh, why hadn't he just chosen room service, or taken a cab to a Denny's? But with his luck lately, or lack thereof, Candace would have been able to track him down by his scent.

"I thought since we're working together now, we should talk, get to know one another in _other_ ways." The expression on her face was sensual, secretive. "I knocked on your door, thinking we could have our discussion in your room, but you'd already gone."

"I'm not stupid, Candace…I'm not working on _anything_ with you unless we're both in public and both on the clock." He told her pointing straight toward her and narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Besides, it's a script…hardly a dramatic enterprise."

She cast her eyes downward and then looked back up at him through her lashes, no doubt a photo-shoot trick to enhance her sexual appeal. "You act like you don't trust me."

"I _don't_." His voice was sharp succinct. "I'm married and I have no plans of jeopardizing what I have for…you or anyone else."

She sighed and toyed with the handle of the silver fork next to her empty place setting. "If you're thinking of our…night in the Big Apple…several years back…I'm over that. I just want to ease the tension that we both feel in front of the camera, because of what we…allowed ourselves to…experience, but denied ourselves to indulge."

Some aspect of her speech reminded him of a woman auditioning for a soap opera. Every word was laced with sheer bubbling, pulsating sex and he was a fool for even being in the same vicinity with her. Having had enough of the senseless games, Dave Batista stood to his feet, tucking his glasses inside the pocket of his shirt and reached for the leather bound ticket book that contained his bill. But Candace was swifter than he'd anticipated and she swiped it up, nostrils flared and an impious smile pasted on her face, as she held it to her chest. "Consider _this_ a favor."

He let out a laugh as his mouth twisted into a sardonic smirk. "I don't _want_ your favors Candace." He told her as he palmed his wallet and emotionlessly tossed a crisp bill onto the center of the linen table cloth. "Not where breakfast is concerned and not in the bedroom either."

She barked a laugh and then her eyes glittered ominously as she hissed her response in a low voice. "Fuck, it's not like _she_ can even remember what it is you prefer…_in the bedroom_." Candace watched as his expression transferred between unrestrained hatred and sheer unbelief.

He shook his head in disgust and turned to go, but she wouldn't be ignored and she shot out, "What are you gonna do if she _never_ gets her memory back, Dave…if she never remembers what you need?"

He turned spearing her with a hard glare. Then his sharp angular face lit up with a million dollar smile, as he laughed softly sliding his sunglasses over his eyes…and then he spoke the complete unadulterated truth. "Well…then I guess I'll just have to haul her back into our bedroom and teach her everything all over again…imagine how much fun that could be." He waited until he thought smoke might pour from the diva's ears and then spun on his heel and walked out of the restaurant.

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Freshly showered, wrapped in a towel, Barren reached the bottom of the stairwell, the intoxicating smell of French Roast coffee filling her nostrils beckoning her to sample it. A swift survey of the living room reminded her of the torrid events of the previous night and brought a pleasant tingle to her nether parts. The living room floor was scattered with the remains of a card game that had begun as an entertaining distraction and then recklessly tumbled into the realm of the sensual, bringing the both of them into a fulfillment, and plunging Barren beneath a tidal wave of regret. The lament that she felt was due mostly in part to the fact that she had never meant to make love to Randy…had never intended for any of it to happen…had resisted her physical attraction to him for all she was worth…and woefully, had proven that she was powerless to stop the inevitable.

Barren rubbed her hands over her upper arms and sighed heavily, shivering. Whether from the cold of the outdoor rain seeping in through the cracks in the old home's windows or from the erotic memory of his mouth on her body in the shower only moments ago, she couldn't say.

"It was your deal, so you have to clean up the mess you made." Barren heard his voice from behind her on the stairwell and though she knew he was speaking of the card game, she caught a different meaning. She _had_ made a huge mess of things and not just where peanuts, corn chips and playing cards were concerned. Barren had carelessly lost sight of the importance of why she had thrust herself into Randy's life to begin with. She had let physical passion cloud her mind and blur the boundaries of her focus when what she should have been doing was launching a campaign to get her key back. Randy's words were as true as any that could have been spoken. This _was_ a mess…a mess because though she did not love Randy Orton, she wasn't sure she could resist him…every time he touched her he weakened her determination to be ruthless in her pursuit of the key.

"The mess _we_ made." Barren corrected, turning her head just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. One of his hands was suddenly on her bare shoulder, the other caressing the curve of her backside…and then there it was again, the pounding of her heart, the liquid desire that sluiced through her veins and made her thoughts grow fuzzy.

His laugh was husky and suggestive as he kissed the top of her hair, letting his chin rest atop her head. "I'll help you." He said softly as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her against the front of his body. Gripping her there against him, with the firmness of her bottom pressed nicely into the front of his body, he knew that cleaning up the mess was the last thing on his mind.

"I'll pick up the cards and you can pick up the clothing." Barren ordered gently, pillowing her head against his chest, reluctant to move away from the warmth of his embrace.

Randy, also clad in only a towel, let his hands glide down her arms and around her hips to rest on the front of her flat abdomen, a subtle sign that he wasn't ready to do any type of cleaning. "It's cold outside…rainy…maybe we could just stay in…and _leave_ the mess?" He asked, nibbling the soft flesh of her shoulder.

As enjoyable as his touch was, as tempting as his kiss was…she simply couldn't keep falling under the veil of obsession he was creating. A crucial need to put distance between her and him had Barren spinning around in his embrace so she could engage him verbally. "I love the rain." She told him, steadying her mind's hapless wandering. "I like to do things _in_ the rain."

Randy smiled looking down on her smooth, pale face, admiring the slight pink undertones of her skin that gave a visible freshness to an otherwise intense countenance, along with the soft upturned nose that provided gentleness to her very angular, symmetrical features. Her auburn hair was damp, trailing limply down her back, a slight wave in the tresses darkened by the moisture. Randy's fingers found the locks and he twisted one wet strand around two fingers as he studied her for a moment. Samantha had _never_ held him this way…not physically, certainly they had embraced during their relationship, certainly they had made love, even…but Samantha had never truly held him. His mind was held captive by Barren…and he was the slightest bit afraid that he was losing his heart, too.

"Well it could be cold but if your game, the balcony looks to be safe from prying eyes."

Barren smiled and pressed her lips lightly to the cleft in his chin, something she'd had a desire to do since the moment she had met him and then whispered. "As tempting as that sounds, it's not what I meant."

Randy grinned, curving his palms around her jaws and then gently grazing her flesh with his thumbs. "Well as long as we can still consider that as an option for later, then I suppose I'll let you off the hook for now." He leaned down and let his lips touch hers, torturously slow, and then with every ounce of restraint he could muster, he released her.

Safe for now from the spell he had put her under, Barren began to salvage the fallen cards, stacking them in a pile on the coffee table, while sweeping corn chips into a different pile along with the remaining peanuts. She raked the pile into a plastic trash sack, save for one stray peanut that lay on the edge of the cluttered coffee table, that she had only just then noticed. Absentmindedly, she thumped the peanut, never intending for it to make contact with anything other than the floor. But in true form, like a missile bound for an enemy target, it flew with deadly, unplanned accuracy and connected directly with Randy's Orton's eye.

As the statuesque wrestler had been leaning over, gathering the remnants of their cast off clothing, completely unaware, he became the inadvertent bulls-eye for the stray peanut. The very second that the nut pelted his eye he dropped to his knee wailing in pain, his hand immediately shielding his eye. Barren's head whipped upward when she heard Randy's shout and suddenly discovering what she had unintentionally done, she rushed to his side, placing her hands on his hunched back.

"Oh my God, Randy…I'm so sorry!" She bent over him with concern as he knelt. "Lemme look at it so I can see if you're okay!"

Randy growled and sloughed her hands off of his back, attempting to stand. His legs were wobbly as if he'd gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. He rubbed the eye fiercely and then turned toward Barren glowering ferociously. "Are you _trying_ to kill me?!" He hollered.

Barren caught sight of the very red eye, and though she felt badly for him, she simply could not stop the emergence of hilarity…could not stifle the laughter as it burst forth. The sight of the 6 foot plus athlete bent over rubbing his eye on the verge of tears, struck a chord of humor deep within her.

"I swear I didn't mean to." Barren sputtered through her laughter, fighting to hold the towel up, when it slipped down over her breast.

Randy huffed incredulously and rubbed his eye, frowning abrasively at her. "Why in the hell do you do that!?" He shouted accusingly, at her. "You hurt me…and then you _laugh_ at me!"

One hand holding the towel and the other covering her mouth, Barren hunched over, weakened by the fit of laughter and gave in to the amusement letting it out despite whether it was impolite or not.

"Oh well that's just fine!" Randy snapped, rubbing the eye again. "I could have been blinded, not to mention, that peanut was—salty!" He pouted. "It stings—"

His near tearful admission was all Barren could handle, hooting loudly…the towel fell from her body and she stood shoulders shaking with her laughter.

"Y-you, are such a baby!" Barren pointed out and then approached him, leaving her towel behind and grasped his elbow pulling his hand away from his eye. It was indeed quite red, but Barren doubted that he had suffered a lethal injury. "It's not like it was a bullet or anything." She pointed out, laughing once more.

"It may as well have been!" Randy defended, letting her look into his wounded, watering eye. His injured ego absorbed her comforting murmurs laced with her laughter and then when he began to realize that he was, in fact, a big baby, he began to laugh softly himself. And looking down on Barren, he also realized that she was standing within a breath of him…her lithe physique no longer covered by the towel. His hands came away from his face and he wound his arm around her lower back pulling her firmly against him as he slanted his lips over hers. The sting of the salty peanut forgotten, Randy soaked himself in her nearness, kissing her deeply, coaxing her tongue into a dance with his.

Barren's hands looped around his muscular neck and she stood on her toes meshing their bodies, blinded by him, her mind a blank as she responded to the unspoken demand that her body made and then she loosened the towel around his waist freeing his erection. He sprang to life and Barren felt the tempting hardness pressing against her belly, inciting an instant pulsating throb between her thighs.

Randy suddenly lifted her slender body off of the ground and she wound her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back as he pressed her against the wall with a forceful thud. She cried out when her back made contact with the wall and laughed as her head connected with the corner of a framed painting, sending it to the floor and causing the frame to crack and the glass to shatter.

"Fuck it…leave it…" Randy hissed as he rolled his hips back preparing to slide himself inside of her, turned on by her hands clutching his hair and her jaw clenched in narrow eyed anticipation.

And then the phone began to ring, loudly, impatiently. The pair was fully intent on leaving the phone in their pursuit of release, until the answering machine kicked in revealing the caller to be his mother.

"Oh hell!" He muttered, as an instant freeze washed over his ardor.

Barren also groaned in frustration, running her lips over his slowly, as he set her down on the floor. "Can't we just let it ring?"

"I have to take it." He announced…another groan from his own lips as he breathed out heavily and backed away from her, nearly stumbling over the towel in the floor. He picked up the receiver still never taking his eyes off of the very flushed, very naked body of Barren as she stood against the wall.

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"Oh, hey babe." Randy's mother smiled when she heard her son's voice interrupt the leaving of her message. "I thought you were gone." She peered through the curtain that adorned the French door in her husband's office and watched as he tossed out instructions to Julio.

"Nope." Randy said stiffly. "I was just trying to wrap up a few things." He watched the twinkle in Barren's eyes when he made subtle reference to her legs around his waist.

"Well then I won't keep you, I just thought that you might like to talk with your Dad?" His mother voiced it as more of a suggestion of what he should do as opposed to a question. "He's boorish this morning and I thought maybe a word or two from you would calm him down." Annette Orton sighed, opening the French door a mere crack, listening to the loud and argumentative verbal volley between her husband and Julio, his longtime employee and friend.

"…How many times does someone have to tell you before you _finally_ figure out how to do something right?" Bob Orton bellowed as he leaned against the rail of the back porch watching Julio tend to his precious plants. "Now dammit, I told you! _That_ Japanese Boxwood is an evergreen and you don't prune the damned thing in the winter!" He gestured wildly and was rewarded with an insult hurled in Spanish by an equally cantankerous Julio, who shook the pruning shears in Bob's direction with squint-eyed irritation.

Bob scoffed and smacked his leg with one palm. "Speak English, dammit!" He ambled off the porch slowly and approached the Hispanic man with the pruning shears. "And who in the blue hell mulches in the middle of January anyhow?! If I told you once, I told you a thousand times…you're gonna kill everything in my garden and then I'm gonna wring your scrawny neck!"

A guttural stream of dialogue in rapid Spanish emerged from Julio as he gestured to the straggly limbs of the unruly boxwood and then back to the shears, shaking his head wildly and pointing at Bob and then back to the shrubs once more.

Bob was incensed and he bellowed. "Funny you can understand me when I tell you I have a paycheck for you, but the minute I want you to do something right, you all of a sudden don't know what the hell I'm saying!"

Julio shook the shears at Bob once more and then gestured for him to go away. "¡Déjeme hacer mi trabajo!" '_Let me do my job!'_ he spat, using only the Spanish and then laughed good-naturedly shaking his head when Bob blew his top.

"How 'bout I just come over there and whip your ass?" Bob asked, bowing his chest, his deep scratchy voice vibrating in his throat. "How would that be? Can you understand what I just said or should I come over there and show you what I mean?"

Julio put the shrub between himself and Bob edging away from Bob Orton as if he understood completely, even though he knew the ill-tempered old man would never have laid a finger on him. Julio's immigration to the States had been difficult, and his subsequent employment with the Orton's was the only thing of substance or pleasure that he had left, having lost his wife and infant son in the desert during their illegal border crossing almost 17 years prior. The Orton's had paid for his paperwork and prevented his deportation, by hiring him and sponsoring him into the country as a landed immigrant. It had helped both parties, giving the Orton's a highly experienced horticulturist and multi-talented ranch hand and giving Julio a reason to have hope and enough money to survive and rebuild his life.

Julio had developed a friendship with Bob Orton, one that had filled the void of his missing family. He had watched Randy and Lynn grow from kids into adults and strangely he found that he was content, even though he'd never remarried. The repartee that he had with the older man despite the idle threats and the curse words was one that he wouldn't have traded for the world. Having nearly lost his old friend to heart failure had made him that much more appreciative of the relationship they shared.

"¿Cómo puede usted esperar que consiga cualquier cosa hecha con usted que me regaña?" _'How can you expect me to get anything done with you nagging me?'_ Julio shot back at him, still not moving from the other side of the shrub.

Annette's voice ringing out from the office door was the only thing that drew Bob's attention from his pursuit of haggling Julio further and he waved his hand in repulsion toward his obstinate Hispanic buddy and turned to ascend the steps of the back porch once more. Bob gripped the rails as he took each slow but steady step and shook his head grumbling.

"I swear he understands English! He probably speaks it too…behind my back!" He told Annette, pointing one gnarled finger. "I know he's faking it and I know he's trimmin' that shrub just to piss me off!" He stepped over the threshold and into the office beside his petite wife, who was holding her cell phone, with their son still on the line.

"He can't even understand simple instructions, but the minute I suggest we sit on the porch and have a beer he comes runnin'!" Bob snorted in repugnance and then shot his head out the door once more. "I betcha you know cervesa! Dontcha, dipshit?"

"Bob, leave him be and come talk to Randy." Annette prodded gently and curled her fingers around the crook of his elbow urging him inside even as Julio was shaking a fist and responding in Spanish once again.

"OOOhhh!" Bob growled and snatched the cell phone from Annette's hand. "When I recover I'm gonna whip his ass…" he muttered as he placed the cell phone to his ear. "Randy?"

"Dad" Randy smiled, having heard most of his father's dialogue through the receiver. "That must be you making all of the ruckus." He announced.

"Me?" Bob, said incredulously. "Not me…it's that damn Julio that's causing all the trouble around here."

"Well I'm sure yelling at him is bound to help." Randy teased, laughing fondly at the memories of years of the same occurring as he had grown up. "How do you feel, Dad?" He asked hesitantly, a tremor of guilt coursing through him, knowing that though he asked openly his father would never have told him the truth if he felt badly.

"I'm good Randy." Bob told him. "And what about you, Boy?" he switched the phone from one ear to the other. "I know you miss being in the ring, but I hope you're taking advantage of your time off."

He _was_…definitely…and for the first time, he didn't feel the reactionary sorrow when he thought of his suspension.

"I'm finding things to keep me…occupied." Randy shook his head in silent protest when he saw Barren reach for her towel and then he lunged forward and snatched it up so she couldn't retrieve it and cover her nakedness. "I know I'll come back and be a hundred and ten percent." He tucked his lower lip between his teeth, smiling devilishly and shaking his head, refusing to give the towel back when she whispered the request.

"That's good to hear, Randy. Real good." Bob told his son earnestly. "I hate to run, but I think I'm gonna make a trip into town and I might just take Julio with me…if I don't decide to fire him instead."

Randy grinned. "I don't know how wise a trip to town is if you're planning on kicking his ass, Dad…might be too big of a temptation with him in the front seat next to you, besides you've been saying you were gonna fire him for 10 years now and you never do it."

"Well I might fire him _this_ year and who in the hell said I was gonna let him ride in the front seat?" Bob asked and then let out a bark of a laugh. "I plan on tying his ass to the bumper and dragging him behind the truck." He let out another laugh. "I gotta go son."

After a swift goodbye, Bob shouted out the office door. "Julio let's go to town!" And then upon seeing Julio hop behind the wheel, he howled in protest. "Hey! You sonuva bitch! Get out of the driver's seat! That's my seat! Get out of my seat!" He shook a fist in the air and ambled down the steps toward the extended-cab, Chevy work truck that he had long ago given to Julio.

Julio shook his head resting his arm on the frame of the truck window. "No!" He insisted. "Su corazón es débil!" _'Your heart is weak!'_ He told Bob.

"There's not a damned thing wrong with my _'kora zone'_!" Bob Orton defended appearing on the verge of kicking the Japanese Boxwoods in fury as he passed them. "I'm the boss, dammit! If you don't start listening, I'm gonna have you deported!" He made the declaration even as he shuffled into the passenger seat allowing Julio to drive. The truck pulled away from the house, leaving Annette holding the cell phone.

"Well, I don't know how much good that did." Annette laughed softly and thanked Randy. "I miss you Randy…please call me more often."

Randy consented and promised that he'd make certain to do just that and then he told his mother he loved her and finished the call tossing the cordless phone onto the sofa. With determined strides he crossed the floor stalking Barren until he had her once more against the wall.

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He watched as the attractive, mid-fifties woman placed the cell phone down on the top of the desk, straightened her husband's desk chair and then exited the dark office. He hoped that she'd simply go on about her day elsewhere in the house and stay out of the office because he didn't feel like killing anyone this early in the morning. Evan stayed hidden in the shadows his back pressed against the far wall, between the hutch of collectibles and a tall stuffed grizzly bear. Sullivan and Evan had discovered the address of the sprawling ranch during their pilfering of Randy Orton's post office box. Opening his mail had done little to divulge his bodily location and they were about to resort to accosting the postal clerk for information, but it had been an expired subscription to a motorcycle magazine that had given them a place to start. A paper reminder from the publisher, confirming the address to which the magazine renewal was to be mailed, had led Sullivan and his men to the ranch.

And of course, in an attempt to make Evan pay penance for his past mistakes, Sullivan had chosen _him_ for the objectionable task of determining where, on the sprawling ranch Randy was and how much involvement the young man had, if any with Barren. So Evan had been standing next to the ghastly grizzly in the darkened office for more than two hours waiting for his opportunity. He had let himself in when the woman had let the cat out. Having been nearly caught by the old man when he had come downstairs to argue with some short Spanish fellow in the kitchen, Evan had been forced to slip behind the office door and hastily conceal himself.

And as lack of luck would happen to have it, Randy hadn't been at the ranch at all. But that fact had only been disappointing for a mere moment, because while Evan stood there silently cursing his misfortune and wracking his brain for a solution, the young man's mother had called him out of the blue. And now all Evan had to do was steal her cell phone and trace the number, then he'd be able to track the man down and question him. Of course there was the obvious knowledge that he would have to kill the wrestler after he questioned him, but that was something that he could deal with as long as he found Barren and somehow managed not to screw things up again.

Evan emerged from behind the door preparing to cross the distance and snatch the woman's phone, when he heard the pleasant musical resonance of female humming, headed in his direction. He whispered a curse and slipped soundlessly back behind the door, sliding his hand inside his jacket, fingers playing on the warm steel handle of his knife. He would make it quick, he decided. The woman seemed so kind and it would be a shame to make her suffer, needlessly. He would hide her body to buy his crew some time and then he would go to confession and absolve himself. Steadying his breathing, he curled his fingers around the hilt of the knife and waited.

The humming ceased when the woman entered the office and swiped the phone off of the desk, sliding it into the back pocket of her jeans. He couldn't help but notice how slender and attractive the woman was, even in her fifties…she had obviously taken good care of herself…he was quite certain by the pictures that he'd seen on the mantel in the office, that _she_ was the source of her children's good looks.

"Gina?" He heard her calling for another female. Something he had not counted on was that there might be more people in the house, there hadn't been anyone other than the old man and his Spanish gardener, up until now. At least that's what he'd thought…another error on his part. "Gina? Would you grab that sack of returns by the front door and let's head out, before the stores get crowded…we can have lunch in that little Mexican cantina, too."

Evan would pretend that he wasn't relieved not to have to kill the woman. Had it only been her in the home, her murder would have been a necessary evil, but he couldn't hide two dead bodies…he simply didn't have the time. And though the woman had no clue how close she had come to dying, Evan was sure that she would have been grateful, that he chose to spare her life. Now being left alone in the home for a short period of time, this was his last opportunity to find the crucial information that would lead him to Randy Orton and close the ever widening gap between his team and Barren O'Neil.

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Her mind was a hopeless jumble of all things tempting, all things alluring…all of the things that comprised Dave Batista…a full eighteen hours since his call and she was still unable to get him off of her mind. The wind blew her curls back away from her face as she walked with Audrey across the parking lot of the soccer arena. The sky had darkened, the air had turned cold again and a storm was roiling in the blue-black clouds, threatening rain. Not surprising since there had been a mere twenty minutes of broken sunshine around the noon hour and nothing more than that.

But the depression of the impending downpour hadn't touched her…the darkness of the weather hadn't done a thing to ruin her mood. And this evening she was happy, contented and she was inclined to believe that it was a result of the previous night's phone conversation. Nancy had weighed the situation she was facing. Though she was certain that someday her memories of her family would return, it was a possible reality that she could never regain those memories. Nancy determined that she could either spend the rest of her days wrapped up in a life of doubt, constantly suspecting that there was something lurking behind the scenes waiting to ruin her life, or she could immerse herself in her life as she knew it and allow herself the luxury of enjoying what she had before it passed her by.

It was fairly obvious that she had an undeniably handsome husband who was fond of her, two step daughters who loved her and considered her an important influence in their lives. It would be a disgrace, she realized if she allowed it _all_ to fall apart while she was waiting for something that might never return. Audrey's tiny, perpetually sticky hand inside of Nancy's, swinging her arm back and forth as they walked across the vast lot toward the door of the arena, reminded her that she had responsibilities. She had made commitments to Dave and his daughters when she had chosen to be a part of his life and even though she couldn't remember them, it didn't release her from those commitments.

And the sudden comprehension that she wasn't really bothered by fulfilling those pledges, those responsibilities, told her subconsciously that she belonged. After stomping squarely in more than half a dozen puddles, Audrey's hand slipped out of hers when they reached the front of the building and the young girl tugged on the glass door with both hands. Wrenching the handle with a grunt she held it open for Nancy.

The pair stepped inside of the building, bringing a gust of humid, chilly wind with them. Once inside, the coach of Audrey's soccer team turned and glanced in her direction. The fear that he might somehow know of her accident and treat her differently, cemented her to the spot on the floor. Nancy was struck suddenly fearful of entering the building and trying to sit through the game with the other parents. Audrey, noticed her hesitation and tugged on her hand. "You can't see us win from over here." She insisted, confident in her team's ability to win. "Come _on_."

Nancy sighed and followed as Audrey led her to the bleachers and stood by her side as the team, the parents and coach rallied around the team's bench in front of her, preparing for the start of the scrimmage.

"I was just sure that you guys would have been the first ones here." Coach Anderson, a young and handsome gentleman with shoulder length blonde hair told her as he tucked his clip board under one arm so he could shake her hand. His smile was genuine, showing a row of fairly straight teeth and with his blue eyes flashing, he reminded her of a surfer.

Nancy extended her hand and then without thinking she responded. "I'm sorry she's late, I had a little trouble finding this place."

Coach Anderson tilted his head in confusion. "We play here every week, is everything okay?"

Nancy realized her error and was about to cover with a vague excuse, but ever helpful Audrey beat her to the punch and piped up. "She had that car wreck Coach, and now she has amnesia, so she can't remember _nothing_…I had to show her where we play." Audrey announced proudly, smiling. "She even forgot that she's supposed to bring the snacks!" Audrey rolled her eyes.

The man's eyebrow's creased in a frown of pity. "Well, that's okay because we were planning on pizza after the game, anyhow." He lifted his gaze to Nancy and after shooing Audrey out onto the indoor turf to practice before the scrimmage, he addressed Nancy in a low tone. "We had heard about the accident, but Angie didn't tell me about…" He paused unsure how to continue. "I apologize if I said something that was an offense."

Nancy shook her head. "You don't need to apologize…everything's fine." She smiled lightening the awkward moment.

"Well if I can do anything…" He offered. "Please let me know."

He hadn't been told the specifics of her accident when Angie had spoken to him, but one thing he had known for certain was that Dave Batista had _no_ clue just how good he had it. Paul Anderson wasn't fond of Dave Batista, not in the least. How many women did the man need? He had an ex-wife who was still obviously a big part of his life, a new wife who seemed genuinely affectionate toward him in the few times that he'd attended games and if Paul's assumptions were right on the money, he probably also had every female wrestler on the roster…and Paul had _nobody_.

The private school's soccer coach for the past three years, Paul had seen countless mothers and he'd even banged a few in his time…quite discreetly of course. But as of late, he'd been running on a dry tank without even so much as a Friday night date. He'd found both of Dave's female counterparts, the former and the present, quite appealing, but until now he'd never considered either of the women approachable where a fling was concerned.

Nancy had attended every game since Audrey had joined the team and Angie hadn't missed a single one until her recent trip to Hawaii with her new boyfriend, so he'd had plenty of occasions to study both women and it occurred to him that the man had more than his share of female companionship. Odd as it was, with both women associating very amicably on a social basis, it wasn't unheard of…Paul had even considered the possibility that Dave Batista might be keeping both women on the line. Maybe planting a seed of doubt wasn't such a bad idea, it would serve him right…if he were here more often then there wouldn't be a reason for someone _else_ to keep his wife company. She might be pregnant with her husband's child right now, but Paul was no fool, she wouldn't be pregnant forever, and she might _always_ have amnesia and so it might serve him well to make his move now.

"Thank you." Nancy nodded and averted her eyes scanning the bottom row of bleachers for a suitable place to sit, grateful that she wouldn't be required to answer any difficult questions.

"Nancy?" Paul finally said, gently tapping the clipboard against his leg as if he were nervous. A gesture meant to enforce the notion that he was simply a naive gentleman. Women liked men who appeared vulnerable and unsure and Paul was a master of masking his true nature. "I would really like it if we could talk again…like we used to."

He watched her face and smiled inwardly when he saw the ripple of confusion. Her eyes, green as new grass, clouded with uncertainty. "I know it's possible you lost my number…" He stammered purposely, letting his eyes fall as if he were going to be emotional. "…but here's my cell again and I hope you'll feel comfortable…using it." He passed his school business card to her allowing his fingers to graze hers in the process and then he turned toward the empty team bench to give her time to absorb his insinuation. It couldn't hurt to let her think that there was something between them. It was even a bit funny and might serve to initiate something that might otherwise have never come about.

Even before he turned away, Nancy's heart had begun to pound in fear and disappointment. Just when she thought that she knew the basic premise of her character, something else surfaced intent on proving her wrong. Had she been talking with this man behind her husband's back or was he merely taking advantage of her loss of memory? Something in the young, dashing coach's eyes made her nervous, something about his demeanor made the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention and so while his back was turned, she allowed the slick business card to slip from her fingers discreetly and flutter unnoticed to the floor beneath the bleachers.

Nancy's frame of mind was suddenly darkened and in addition to the ever stubborn foot in her ribs, her lower back was throbbing with a dull ache and now she felt sick to her stomach after the conversation with Audrey's coach. She took her seat behind the team's bench and let her eyes find the bouncing ponytail attached to the head of her stepdaughter, who at present was practicing some highly impressive footwork in the center of the field. She was hell-bent on keeping her eyes on Audrey to dissuade any sort of social interaction between herself and other parents. Nancy watched as the mixed boy and girl soccer team assembled near the bench to receive their pep-talk and give birth to a loud cheerful war-cry, something Audrey was well versed in.

She couldn't help but grin as she watched the throng of third-graders pour out onto the indoor soccer field after the coaches instructions, Audrey in her oversized, sea-green team shirt, tucked into a pair of hopelessly ballooning, black soccer shorts. Her shin guards covered every inch of her skinny lower-legs and she hopped about excitedly in her scuffed up soccer cleats, her petite frame filled with child-like exhilaration. Audrey wasn't the only one that bounced around like an aimless ping-pong ball, for every child on the field seemed to be equally unfocused. To her dismay, the young coach kept casting curious glances over his shoulder and then after lining up the starting players on the field, including Audrey, he winked at Nancy from below and then blew the whistle signaling that his team was ready.

Nancy placed all of her attention on Audrey, who upon the shrill signal of the whistle, transformed into something resembling an impassive mercenary. Her face seemed to drain from childish glee to adult determination. Her deep brown eyes settled on the center from the other team and then shifted from the ball, to the ref and back to the center. After the start of the game and only minutes into it, it was abundantly apparent that she was fiercely competitive and extraordinarily athletic. She was tinier than most of the other players; a mystery considering the fact that her father was massive and her mother Angie happened to be taller than the average woman.

Tearing up the field, Audrey had forsaken the idea of propriety in lieu of an aggressively attained victory. Play after play, Audrey was darting between players, unafraid of the kicking of the other younger players, fearless of the melee. She was determined to steal the ball every time she was close and even sometimes when she wasn't. Nancy noticed that the young girl never trash talked, and other than a few grunts that emerged from the exertion of kicking the ball toward the goal in an assist, there were few indicators that she was even winded. Her reckless style of play was doing the job, because by the half, she had already been party to one goal and three assists. Her previously neat ponytail was coming undone, the tendrils pasted to the side of her face and neck by her sweat.

Audrey waved and smiled brightly when the coaches pulled the team in for a halftime pep talk and as badly as Nancy wanted to go down there and tell her she was proud of her, she didn't want to risk engaging the unwanted attentions of Coach Anderson. The game finished in short order with Audrey in play, throughout all four quarters; leaving Nancy wondering if it was because she was so good at the game or because the Coach was trying to impress her. Nancy gathered her purse and Audrey's coat, intent on skipping the pizza outing when she was approached by another mother.

"It's good to see you back after the holidays…You're finally beginning to look like you're having a baby." The woman patted Nancy's shoulder in a genuine gesture of friendship. "I hope you and Audrey are going to the pizza party."

"Oh I don't know." Nancy admitted with hesitation. "I'm sort of tired and…"

"Pleeeze?" Audrey begged, breathlessly, sweating and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I'm _starving_!"

Nancy consented, only because of the pleading brown eyes that strangely reminded her of her husband. A pulse of perplexity, she suddenly realized that she missed the man, that she felt very defenseless without him here…if he were here she wouldn't feel so exposed. She wasn't sure why she knew it to be true, she just somehow knew.

Nancy was surrounded by children stuffing their mouths with every form and variety of pizza, feeling the need to stay close to Audrey. She surmised that if she was attached at the hip to her stepdaughter, then she could kill two birds with one stone; she could keep the coach at bay and avoid having to interact with other parents who were currently casting glances in her direction. Nancy was pretty sure that she was behaving differently than she would have normally, but without the ability to recall the nature of her friendships with the other parents it was hard to know how she should behave.

Audrey however, had ditched her pregnant stepmother in favor of the video games scattered across the multi-colored carpet in the pizza parlor's arcade, leaving Nancy to pick nervously at a piece of pepperoni pizza with far too much sauce for her taste. She was half wishing that a false fire-alarm would sound so she could escape the discomfort of the situation. A tense glance around the dining area confirmed the coach's eyes on her again and she was submerged beneath a wave of anxious nausea. Nancy was about to fold a menu and fan away the flush of sickness when her cell phone trilled from inside her purse and she found herself oddly praying that it might be her husband.

"Nancy, it's Barren."

Nancy nearly cried out in relief for the distraction. "Hi." She hoped she didn't sound too desperate.

"I called to see if you'd like to have lunch with me tomorrow."

"Absolutely." Nancy confirmed.

From across the room, Paul Anderson watched the obvious uneasiness that Nancy was feeling. He chuckled, noticing how relieved she seemed to be when she answered her phone. Paul wondered if it might be her husband calling…as he often did during post game meals and he wouldn't deny that he was mildly jealous and slightly tempted to walk the distance of the boisterous dining room and yank the phone from her hand so he could hang up on the man himself.

Nancy turned her back on the group of parents sitting a decent distance away and told Barren. "I'll be ready around eleven if you want to stop by."

"Great…we'll go for Italian, unless of course that baby of yours is craving something else." Barren told her with a laugh.

"Italian's fine." Nancy agreed, relieved when Audrey tugged on her shirt from behind asking for more money to play video games. She held one finger up indicating for Audrey to wait a minute.

"I'll see you at eleven." Barren confirmed and ended the call.

Audrey yanked on Nancy's tightly fitting scoop neck sweater. "I ran out of quarters and I need some more bucks." She announced in a rather serious tone. "Can I have twenty?"

Nancy shook her head, content to offer only five, but the other parents and team members began to pack it up. It was an extreme sense of liberation, knowing that the night was over and she could snatch Audrey up and head for the sanctity of her warm home. Vanessa was safely at home already with her friend Meredith studying for a chemistry exam and all Nancy wanted to do was settle in for the night. "Everyone's ready to go, so I think we should head out too."

Audrey's look of disappointment was short-lived, when the duo's exit was hampered by the approach of Coach Anderson and several other parents who were also heading for the dining room's arched exit.

"Great game, Audrey." Paul tweaked her tangled, limp pony-tail and then lifted his gaze to Nancy. "Practice tomorrow night takes place at St. Avril's gym on Westmoreland Drive, if you'd like to meet me in St. Luke's parking lot, then you can follow me there, since you don't…remember."

"I think I'll be able to find it." Nancy said, declining his offer and then draping Audrey's coat over her shoulders.

"I'll just tell her where it is." Audrey announced as seriously as an adult.

"_Yeah_, you have to, because she doesn't even _know_." The voice of a child drew Nancy's attention to a red-haired boy, who stood a few feet away and to the side of Audrey.

"Shut up, Toby." Audrey demanded, frowning.

Toby smirked and then announced in a loud voice. "Your Daddy's a chump, not a champ and your stepmama's too _stupid_ to find the soccer field."

Nancy frowned and reached out to place a hand on Audrey's shoulder so she could steer the girl away from the taunting chatter, but before she could get a good grasp on her, Audrey pounced. Her pretty face contorted into a mask of hurt and anger, her tiny hand balled into a fist and swiftly as a bolt of lightning, she swung, socking Toby Davis right in the eye. The boy's head reeled and he fell to the floor, but Audrey wasn't finished there, she flung herself on top of him and tugged fiercely on his red hair.

Nancy was prevented from halting the skirmish, by the coach who pulled Audrey off of Toby and handed her over gently, placing himself between the two kids. Both children were crying, parents were watching, mouths open in shock and through a loud round of tearful exasperation, Audrey looked up at her stepmother and stuttered angrily. "He _always_, teases me! You _know_ I hate school because he teases me and you make me go anyways!" Audrey sagged against Nancy's side, her tears soaking the side of her shirt. "He's mean and he hates me!" She lifted her head and cast a glare at her stepmother. "He always makes fun of Daddy and now _you_ can't remember nothing and so now he has something even worser to tease me about!"

Nancy felt her heart plummet and suddenly the whole day was becoming a near perfect example of 'Murphy's Law'. Audrey was weeping against her hip, angry with Nancy for not being able to remember anything, Toby was also weeping against his mother's belly, as she tried feverishly to get him to reveal his bruised eye.

"I'm so sorry." Nancy apologized to the boy's mother, who nodded, despite her obvious irritation. It was apparent her son could do no wrong, as the woman muttered an indecipherable insult and ushered the flaming haired troublemaker away from the group.

Nancy rubbed Audrey's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Let's go." She ordered calmly and retreated through the exit door of the parlor. Her highly upset stepdaughter clung to her body the entire length of the parking lot forcing Nancy to half hobble and half drag the distraught girl step by step. Nancy nearly had to pry Audrey's arms off when they finally reached the Navigator.

"Audrey, look at me." Nancy unwound the girl's arms and knelt down so she could be eye-level. "You _cannot_ hit people…"

"He's _SO_ mean!" Audrey sobbed. "I can't take it anymore! He's not nice…not never!"

Nancy felt true empathy and nearly caved under the watery gaze of the girl. "A lot of people are _'Not nice…not never'_" Nancy reasoned, using Audrey's own words. "But it doesn't give you the right to whack 'em in the eye. You have to control your temper." It was hard to be firm when Audrey's lower lip began to quaver and Nancy felt her own eyes begin to sting.

"Daddy whacks people in the eyes." Audrey said matter-of-factly though her voice trembled.

Nancy smiled, gauging what she should say. "Well that's not real, Audrey."

Audrey scoffed, offended. "Rasslin' is too real! And Daddy hits hard! I see those other guys fall on their butts when he hits!" She was awfully defensive of her Daddy, and Nancy found the display endearing.

"Well, Daddy gets paid to hit people" She corrected her error. "And you socked Toby in the eye for free."

Audrey ducked her head and wrung her tiny fingers. She looked miserable in her oversized soccer clothing, with her thick woolen coat hanging sad and lifeless on her tiny frame. "I pulled his stupid red-hair too."

Nancy pursed her lips and placed one index finger softly on Audrey's lips to quash her attempt at justification. Shaking her head, she told her. "Don't do it again, Audrey…and tomorrow afternoon at practice, you'll apologize to him." She shook her head in gentle warning, when Audrey protested. "You'll apologize, Audrey."

Audrey's head bobbed in a defeated nod and then she leaned forward and hugged Nancy's neck. "I shouldn'ta told coach about your amnesia…I have a big 'ole mouth."

"It's okay." Nancy hugged her in return and the baby in her belly kicked hard in a gesture of discomfort. She rubbed the sweaty, tear-coated tendrils away from Audrey's face and noticed a shallow scratch on her cheek. "Looks like he got one in on you too."

"Don't tell Daddy." Audrey begged. "He'll take the X-Box outta my room, cause he says little ladies don't throw punches."

"I'm guessing this has happened before?" Nancy asked, arching her brow and wiping a tear from Audrey's cheek.

Audrey held up one sticky finger. "Just once."

Nancy sighed, rising up from her kneeling position and opening the passenger side so Audrey could scramble up into the seat. "I'm not promising anything. We'll just see what happens when he calls." And as she rounded the backside of the truck, she felt a thump of excitement at the prospect of his call.


	19. Chapter 18

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 18

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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**"Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway."**

**Mary Kay Ash**

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Her swift pace across the parking lot of the library, propelled by a stiff, chilly wind offered her little chance to sip the Venti-Triple Vanilla Latte she had purchased from Starbucks several minutes prior. Complete with nutmeg spice, sprinkled on top of the froth that crowned the indulgent treat, it was a smidgeon of torture just smelling it and not being able to taste it yet. Barren ducked inside of the mezzanine in the front of the library and pushed her collar back down from where it had tangled up into her hair, listening to the wind as it howled in protest through the long partially enclosed corridor.

She was content in the knowledge that when Randy woke up he would find her hastily scribbled note and realize that she'd be back later in the day. Despite the imperative necessity for her to contact Owen and resume her search for the key, it had been incredibly difficult to drag her body from the warmth of Randy's bed, the comfort of his embrace…and because it had been so hard, it served as yet another reminder of why Barren had to cease monkeying around. She had to extract herself from the danger that a relationship with Randy presented and fast, before she had more than just Sullivan and his men to contend with. Now would be a hell of a bad time to fall in love.

Randy Orton…Good Lord in Heaven! He and she were a true study in opposites. And though she reminded herself once more that she currently did not love him in the way that was imperative for great romantic future, she was forcefully reassured every time his dark eyes searched hers that she could fall for him very easily if she weren't mindful. And though she had allowed herself to be swept away by Randy Orton she couldn't simply forget Owen…Owen was who she _truly_ loved. Of course before Randy, she had been certain that Owen was the pinnacle of sexual prowess…but that was _before_. She chewed her bottom lip against the frustration of the situation and another gust of cold wind swept through the mezzanine, grabbing at her scarf and hair. Was it even possible to love two men? How was it she could dearly adore the thought of making a life with Owen and yet insanely, obsessively desire the unceasing touch of Randy Orton?

It was disturbing even just to ponder…For while Owen was the man she had forgiven for his apparent treachery…the man with whom her destiny was inexorably intertwined, Randy was the one who had shown her that there was a another side to her personality, a whole new facet to her sexuality…a whole new depiction of her beauty. Owen would undoubtedly be the one that helped her achieve her goal of bringing down the reformist party and avenging Duncan's death in one fell swoop, But it was Randy Orton…Randy was who she would remember every single time Owen touched her. And _that_ was where Fate had kicked her when she was down.

Life had never been simple for Barren O'Neil, _never_. The cozy house in the country with the white picket fence…the fantasy of children and family, warmth of hearth and home and a man who loved her resolutely and _made_ love to her uncontrollably…_that_ fantasy was as elusive as the key that she was desperately seeking and at the same time, just as desirable. And while she would never have _those_ things…the things that her mother had told her existed only in America, she could have _one_ thing…at least for a little while…she could have Randy Orton. And then when the time was right, she could let him go and meet up again with him somewhere in her mind's secret places if not ever again in true life.

She tugged the innermost door open and darted inside of the library, letting the warm rush of air engulf her. It made her shiver at the slight temperature change and she caught the smell of aging paper and mothballs, the faint scent of pine cleanser and impending rain. Barren halted finally to take a sip of the hot beverage that she had been balancing in her hand despite the wind and rapid steps and glanced around the enormous historical building. Grandiose in its décor, with massive wooden columns supporting a sprawling staircase, highly polished oak shelves as far as the eye could see and marble floors so shiny she could catch a glimpse of her own tousled reflection peeking curiously back at her.

It was peaceful in the vast library, silent just as a library should be and glancing swiftly from left to right taking in the lengthy corridors and unknown rooms that sank deep into long, mysterious hallways, Barren's grey eyes found what they sought. The computer stations with desktops that were wired for internet access. She crossed the floor, her high-heeled boots clicking loudly in the silence…her reflection following along obediently in the mirror-like floor. Stopping in front of the desk, Barren grasped the plastic coated ink pen, hanging from a thick ball chain, much like the one that her key was hanging from and signed in for use of the computer. She allowed the woman to take down her very cleverly contrived personal information and then after agreeing to the terms of internet use, Barren seated herself behind the monitor and began to access the flood of chat rooms until she finally found the one she knew Owen would have logged into.

Her long, slender fingers moved across the keyboard announcing her arrival.

'_I have set the Lord always before me…' _

Barren tugged the thick, camel colored trench coat off, letting it slide backward over her shoulders falling neatly onto the chair behind her as she waited for a response. Again, there were more chatters in the room insulting her for the use of Scripture, and others who simply gave her a greeting and resumed their conversations with friends. She blew out a breath and began once more.

'_I have set the Lord always before me…'_

Nervous seconds ticked by until finally the response was keyed in by a chatter in 'invisible' mode.

'…_because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.'_

Filled with exuberance, Barren peeked over her shoulder to confirm that she wasn't being watched. Before she could type in another verse, the mystery chatter whom she was certain must be Owen appeared again visibly as _'Sadman101'_

_'And has the Lord protected you?'_ Sadman101 asked.

Barren knew that she must respond in scripture so as not to arouse undue suspicion.

'_In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears.'_ She waited, knowing that he would soon ask a question that she would have to give a negative answer to.

_'And have you found the will of God for your life?' _

Barren frowned. Owen was clearly asking if she had retrieved the information that Duncan had hidden…it was how they'd planned it…communicating this way in the event that he had been tailed. And now she would be forced to tell him that she hadn't gotten the information, because she hadn't gotten her hands on the key. And she hadn't gotten her hands on the key, because she had allowed herself to be sidetracked by a very handsome distraction. And on _Randy_ was where her hands had been this whole time. An arrow of guilt knifed through Barren, at the thought of where she had been less than an hour ago…tangled limb with limb in Randy Orton's bed…and yet here and now, she was sitting on the other end of a dialogue with the man she had been planning to build a future with. She closed her eyes and grimaced. A fraud a phony…weak and unfocused…how in the hell had her big brother Duncan ever determined that she could be trusted to help with something so very important? She typed her response slowly and then she shook her head at her own betrayal…and then without waiting for his counter response …she logged off.

'_God has not yet revealed his will for me, but His word says in Jeremiah 29:13 – And ye shall seek me and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.'_

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He frowned. Not in anger, but in sadness and somewhat out of fear. The longer it took for her to find the information and cross the Canadian border, the less likely she was to find it at all…and even worse, the less likely it was that she would remain alive. Owen pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and leaned back all the way in the office chair, closing his eyes, bearing his face toward the ceiling and focusing his thoughts after logging out of the chat room.

"Oh Barren…where are you and what are you doing?" He whispered, chewing his bottom lip. It was a mystery as to what was keeping her, though it was fairly apparent that she'd had to ditch the key. Had she been in possession of it this entire time she would have already obtained the packet hidden by Duncan and hot-footed it across the border where she would be safe.

It had been a gamble, giving her the key in the first place. He should have kept the key himself and forced her to cross the border, making her wait for him…but she was the only one who knew where the packet was…she was the only one Duncan had told…and she still didn't trust Owen enough to reveal it to him. Considering the circumstances, he didn't find that fact odd. He had done more than his share of things to force her mistrust and yet he loved her…damned if he didn't love her more than anything.

And he remembered kissing her, not every kiss…but specifically the one in the warehouse…tasting the blood on her lip after she'd been struck in the mouth by Sullivan and lay helpless on her side, tied to the chair. He'd kissed her for show. For the benefit of the men watching, when what he'd really wanted to do was hold her and wash away the blood, _after_ he twisted Sullivan's head off and handed it back to him. But he'd kept his cool, kept his secret and in so doing, had kept them both alive for a little longer.

It was supposed to have been a pretty simple undertaking, from start to finish…Owen was supposed to have been calloused and cold, detached…when he'd been given his orders. But he wasn't…not just then when he had kissed her…not even hours before when he'd taken her from the wedding reception, not weeks prior when he'd been falling in love with her despite his every attempt to put a halt to it.

And he was weak, lost…because of her. Before Barren, he had been a soldier, he'd killed for defense and convenience, stolen for survival and sustenance…but that was _before_. And before her, he'd had every intention of making money off of the seemingly innocent deal that McCaughey was running. Until she'd come traipsing into his life…innocent and full of life, with honor and integrity sweeping him up into a whirlwind of feelings…teaching him things he'd never dreamed of needing, never dreamed of wanting…but he wanted them and he needed them with _her_ and no one else.

And just when Owen was determined to change professions and make Barren a priority, he'd stumbled onto Duncan's findings even before Sullivan had caught onto it and the horror of what would happen once the IRP destroyed any sense of organized government on Ireland's shores, had propelled him to action. Owen loved money, but he loved Barren more…and he had fought and bled for a government that hadn't recognized him or even cared for the dead left in its wake, but Anarchy, followed by the frail inception of a regime with McCaughey at the helm?

That was worse than what he'd suffered…it would tear his country to shreds. And just as Duncan had, he must do what he could to stop it. Owen could only hope that Barren reached the incriminating information in time. Any ordinary person might think that she wouldn't make it even if she did manage to get her hands on the goods. She was feminine and sweet, but tougher than a two dollar steak…he almost smiled when he remembered how he'd come to her in the warehouse after Sully and the others had posted him guard and teasingly suggested he go in get himself one last piece.

He pulled his hands down from his throbbing temples and sat up straight, glaring at the computer screen as if somehow the look could change the words…could somehow make it so that she had said she'd found the goods and was on her way.

_…Damp and cold. Dark. Swirling black shadows and the sounds of a police siren wailing somewhere in the distance reached his ears as his fingers curled around the doorknob. Owen didn't wish to wait too long. He knew the arm pinned between the flimsy chair-back and the cold concrete floor would likely be losing circulation. He couldn't leave her that way._

_The door came open effortlessly as he pushed it…not loudly as he would have imagined, but surprisingly it was almost silent, the rubber sweep barely grazing the floor. The only noise was the sound of the thermostat on the portable heater as it kicked on more than twenty yards away in another vast room where the motley crew sat, watching re-runs of M.A.S.H. And then there was her breathing, soft and trembling. She couldn't see him as she lay on her side, facing the far wall…and though he was sure she suspected that someone was in the room, he never heard her say a word…not until he bent over her, sweeping her hair out of her face with gentle fingers._

_Instantly, the Irish spark was back and she commanded in a cold whisper. "Don't touch me."_

_He didn't obey, instead tracing the bruise on her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Owen felt her twist her head away in spite of her constricted position. Leaning down he pressed his lips to her temple, flooded with guilt for what he'd done to her and anger for what he still had to do. "Barren."_

_She bucked against the kiss, the ties…crying out when her arm wrenched. "Leave me alone!" Her scream was weak, not much more than a croak…the result of a dry throat, swollen from crying and a lack of water._

_"Hush, Barren…it's me." He whispered, his thick Irish accent, tickling her flesh. He placed his hands beneath the chair-back and her neck, supporting her as he righted the chair to a sitting position._

_"I know who it is!" She hissed hoarsely. "Get the fuck off me!" _

_He wanted to laugh when he saw her try to hop away with the chair as she struggled against the ropes binding her hands. Forever defiant, Barren. _

_But standing there in front of her, pinned with a murderous glare from her molten chrome irises, he was reminded of what he had come in here for, reminded of why he was so damned enamored of her. "Ye have to be a little quiet fer once." He said gently as he leaned in to push the hair out of her face once more and then he suddenly found himself wishing like hell that someone had tied her feet to the chair legs, when one rebellious female foot connected solidly with his shin._

_"I said fuck off!" She demanded, her voice still no more than a weak rasp as she blasted at him with another round of flailing feet._

_Owen dodged the kicks hopping on one leg as he held his throbbing shin. "Fuckin' hell, Barren!" He glowered and then came around the backside of the chair where he'd be safe from her violence. Once behind her he stifled her attempts to communicate, by clamping a hand over her mouth and then he leaned in closely, his lips grazing her ear. "Be still and be quiet!" He whispered fiercely._

_She fought hard against him again, but he held her there, with much appreciated assistance from the hand ties, until she was spent…no more energy. Her head sagged back against his chest and he felt her go slack, save for her shoulders that began to shake as she wept silently. The tears streamed from her eyes, over his hand as it covered her mouth. "Barren, please be quiet and let me explain." He risked another round of gruff cursing when he pulled his hand away, but that wasn't what he got._

_Her voice was a trembling whimper, fearful…but still insubordinate. "I hate you, Owen." _

_Something about the calmness, laced with the tears draped Owen in a cloak of regret. Barren didn't fight against him, she was too exhausted, but her words were more painful than any kick to the shin could have ever been._

_He almost wanted to smile, despite the prick of pain he felt from her statement…she would be unruly and uncompromising until she took her last breath…even if she had no clue that he was trying like hell to formulate a plan that would keep her from taking that last breath. "No ye don't." He told her softly, wrapping an arm around the front of her body as her head lay back against his chest. _

_"Yes I do."_

_"Barren, ye love me." He told her, because he knew it was true…and he knew he loved her…even if he had broken her trust just to save her life. "I know ye're angry…"_

_  
Her shoulders shook with a ragged laugh. "Angry?" The laugh turned to tears and she wept softly as she spoke. "You let him die when you knew they would kill him…I wish 'angry' was all I felt right now."_

_"That's not true, Barren." He told her, determined to use the small amount of time he had to convince of his true intentions. "I had a choice, yes…and I made the right choice…even if ye don't think so."_

_"Kidnapping me and letting your buddies beat me?" Barren asked. "Letting Duncan die? You made all the wrong choices, Owen." And then in Gaelic she told him. "Is tusa do mhallacht fein." _'You are your own curse'

_His laugh was soft. "We're a matched pair, Barren…blasted curses, both of us." He breathed in deeply, wishing he knew the words to make her forgive him. "Will ye let me tell you?…"_

_"No I won't!" Though her throat was dry, her voice was beginning to take on a louder tone…and her defiance was eating up the precious little time he had been given with her._

_He bent down, held her tighter and hissed harshly in her ear, covering her mouth once more. "Barren, shut up! Listen fer once and don't speak!" He was firm in his manner of speech and highly irritated by her insolence, because it wasted too much time and hurled them both closer to being found out. "I will explain myself to ye, and ye'll not say another word, or I'll slap ye senseless so yer big mouth doesn't git us both killed!" He continued. "I know ye don't trust me…I know that Duncan told ye how to find the information to bring McCaughey down…I know ye're the only one who knows where it is…But you need to know that I have the key…" The shiny metal dangled from the chain as he held it with one hand in front of her, still clamping the other over her mouth. "I found it under the spare tire when I put ye in the trunk of yer car…Duncan was so damned smart, hiding it right under yer nose."_

_She stilled in his embrace, and wept behind the prison of his hand when she remembered Duncan…remembered his murder._

_"I cannot do this by myself and neither can ye." He spoke softly. "Sully doesn't know that I have the key and he can't know or he'll kill us just as surely as he had Duncan killed…Now listen to me, don't speak…pay attention because if ye don't it's all over before it begins."_

_She had to believe him…he had to make her trust him…and if she fell back on her part, then they would both be dead before the morning. He moved to stand in front of her, barely able to see her eyes glaze over with fresh tears as they searched his. Removing his hand from her mouth, he replaced it with his lips, hard and unrelenting, his kiss submitted any struggle she might have attempted to make. Slowly he tasted her lips, kissed her until he felt her respond, felt her lips move beneath his…and then he pulled away so he could tell her what he must and then leave her again. "He made me choose."_

_"What?" She whispered, through her tears, her lips made tender from his kisses, split from the back of Sullivan's hand._

_"I could either kill Duncan or I could come take ye from the wedding…" He told her breathing out heavily and shaking his head. "I had to know ye'd be safe and I couldn't trust that Teke wouldn't go ahead and kill ye in rashness…he was a tickin' time bomb…and I…so I chose to knock ye out and take ye, only I couldn't even bring myself to club ye upside the head, so I used a chemical to make ye pass out." He rubbed the trail of tears away with his thumb, and she closed her eyes, crying silently. "I didn't know…and, this wasn't why I dated ye, Barren…I had no idea it was gonna come to this until the night before yer friend's wedding." He kissed her again, relieved and elated when she responded._

_He told of how he couldn't risk telling her what he knew until he had a means of escape…and then told of how he had stumbled upon that means of escape, hidden by her own brother in her very own apartment, right beneath her unsuspecting little nose. And because Owen had known what to look for he'd found it in short order and put the plan into action in less than 12 hours. "Tonight, Teke is supposed to take ye out into the woods to intimidate ye into telling him everything." He told her. "No matter what he does, trust that I'll be there as soon as I'm able, and ye must tell him nothing." He shook his head for emphasis. "Keep yer tongue about the key or everything yer brother put into play will be buried along with us in some landfill somewhere."_

_She nodded and he continued. "That's when ye'll have to make an escape. Now ye remember the cabin that yer brother took ye fer vacation last year?" She nodded as he referred to the cabin nestled in the Lake of The Woods in Ontario, Canada. "He bought it, Barren…I think he was planning on runnin with ye when the heat was on…tonight ye'll run and retrieve Duncan's packet…as soon as ye have it cross the border and meet me there at the cabin."_

_She shook her head and whimpered. "How am I supposed to trust you, Owen?"_

_"Because ye love me."_

_She shook her head again. "It doesn't matter if I love you, because you don't love me."_

_He smiled gently and he knew the fierce pain of her words couldn't help but show on his face, because the sharpness of the comment arrowed through his entire being when she said it. "Oh, Barren…" His lips touched hers softly and then he kissed her cheek just below her right eye. "Do ye remember the second time ye came to the office fer lunch with yer brother?" He saw her nod. "And do ye remember what happened when ye went to put yer purse on the secretary's desk?"_

_A trembling laugh drifted upon a sob from between her lips. "Yes."_

_"Yer blasted huge bag knocked that cup of hot soup right into her lap and she was hoppin' around cursin' and ye were tryin' to help her and she was shovin' ye away." He smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist despite the fact that she was still bound by the ties._

_"Why is that so funny?" Her voice was still hoarse as she whispered. "She certainly wasn't laughing."_

_"Because that's the very first minute I knew I loved ye." He kissed her forehead. "I still feel that way…but if we're meant to stay alive so we can be together, then ye have to follow everything by the letter, can ye do that, Barren? Can ye trust me?"_

_She nodded._

_"Once ye're across the border we have the info and can get it where it needs to go…all ye have to do is get it and meet me at the cabin…Don't tell me what ye know…because as long as I have no knowledge of it then ye know ye can trust me." He continued giving her specific instructions on how to contact him via a chat room if she was delayed and where to find the hidden identification and money that Duncan had already prepared for her so that she could cross the border. After he was certain that she understood, Owen stood to his feet, leaned over once more and pressed another kiss to her mouth. "Ta mo chroi istigh ionat (_My heart is within you_), Barren and don't be afraid tonight, I'll be there I promise." And then he turned and left her alone…_

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She hadn't gotten around to telling Dave about Audrey's tussle when he'd called, and not because she didn't think he should know about it…but because she wasn't sure exactly _how_ she should tell him. It wasn't that she was afraid of what he would do, because she had already determined that he wasn't a violent man. More so it was the thought of what he would say when he found out that the child he'd entrusted into her amnestic hands, had been involved in an all out fisticuffs brawl in the middle of a family pizza parlor. Surely he would think that she was incapable of caring for his children.

Somehow, the thought of him forming his own opinion of what had happened, without being there to see it firsthand and know the true reason, sealed the true gravity of her ineptitude. And though she knew she had to tell him at some point…sooner rather than later, she hadn't wanted to ruin the peaceful tenor of his phone call, so she'd waited. And the call itself had somehow filled her with a myriad of emotions…and with no memory to go on, the emotions were pulling her around in a wild goose chase. It seemed like the harder she tried to be evasive, the easier he proved that he knew her better than she knew herself. He'd asked how she felt, asked about the baby…all simple normal everyday hubby chat…but it was different.

It was different because she found herself wishing he were there in person to ask…there so she could tattle on the crude coach of Audrey's soccer team and stand there with satisfaction when Dave pummeled him, if he was prone that sort of thing. She was wishing he was there so she could ask how in the world she was supposed to remedy the problem with Vanessa's Looney Bag since the local Dry Cleaner had said they wouldn't touch it because they dared not claim liability for any further damage. She even found herself wishing he was there just so she wasn't by herself all day long…and the fact that she wanted him around at _all_ when only days ago she just wanted him gone, was either a hormonal mystery or a signal that a recovery of her emotions had preceded a recovery of her memory. And even now as she sat on the floor in the center of the nursery, appraising some of the baby finery that she hadn't remembered buying, she wasn't able to put him out of her mind….wasn't able to lessen the fear of how he might react once he found out that she hadn't been able to control the situation with Audrey and her one-two punch.

"This is always helpful…" Barren spoke, inserting herself into Nancy's reverie. "Says you can get reception up to two miles." Her eyebrows rose, lifting her mouth in a smile showing she was suitably impressed.

Nancy grinned, palming the Baby Monitor as barren passed it over to her. "Don't know when I'll ever find myself two miles away from my baby…but I'm sure Audrey will somehow find it useful."

The two had shared conversation over lunch and afterward Nancy had suggested that she should go home and look through the bevy of baby supplies, another step in the preparation for his birth. The conversation during lunch had been enlightening and refreshing and Nancy found herself thankful for the new friendship that was forming between the two of them. And so she'd invited Barren back to the house for coffee, asking if she might like to help her sort through the things so she could determine what, if anything, she might need to purchase in these last two weeks.

Nancy pulled the monitor from the plastic package and flipped it over inserting the batteries and adjusting the knob. A crackle and a whine from the monitor's speaker as it automatically scanned and found the proper channel and then her voice was crystal clear through the receiver. "It works." Nancy nodded her head and prepared to turn it off.

"I'll go down the hall…" Barren suggested "…and we'll see if it works for that two miles." She joked as she grasped the receiver and stepped outside of the nursery, closing the door behind her, listening to the ambient sounds of Nancy opening yet another package of baby related paraphernalia. Never in her life had she seen such a multitude of baby goods…and the fact that they had all somehow managed to fit perfectly stashed in that boy's closet was something she would never figure out. "I'll just take it through the whole house and make sure that it works in every room." She announced loudly from outside of the closed door. "Just maybe sing or something…make some noise."

"Yeah right." Nancy laughed, and instead wound up the tiny mobile attached to the crib, giving life to a gently sedate version of _'Frera Jacques'_.

Barren smiled and walked silently down the hall to the Master bedroom, entering it quickly and crossing the floor to the night table. She opened the tiny drawer and swept her hand gently through it, finding nothing but a book and small miscellaneous items…none of which happened to be her key. The other night table followed suit and then the dresser became subject to her silent perusal, with still no sign of the key.

Knowing that she had to act quickly and with as little suspicious behavior as possibly, Barren ditched the idea of being thorough in favor of covering as much ground as possible. She glanced into the bathroom through a few drawers and cabinets, all the while with her heart pounding heavily in her chest. Under the sink she found cleaning products and a host of jams and jellies, bath products of all descriptions, a lonely box of Epsom Salts and an assortment of cleaning supplies. Barren closed the cabinet drawer and turned around slipping out of the Master and down the hall silently past the closed nursery door.

Her footsteps carried her down the stairs and through the hall past the impossibly neat living-room into Dave Batista's office. The sounds of _'London Bridge Is Falling Down'_, interrupted by the occasional crackle of paper through the hand held unit provided a soft and uplifting beat to her steps. Barren lifted a stack of papers, looking under them and then grazed trembling fingers over the top ledge of the shelves that lined one wall finding nothing. Her search through his desk drawers produced little more than a sense of panic and intense frustration.

"Dammit…" Barren grumbled as she placed one elegant hand on the latch handle of Nancy's studio door, swinging it open, just as _'Edele Weiss'_ drifted through the speaker. Her eyes scanned in horror the mess that comprised the studio and her shoulders slumped hopelessly as she prayed that Nancy had decided against stashing the key in the magnanimous mess. "Oh please…" She sighed and closed the door. There was clearly no time for her to search the studio…an undertaking of that magnitude would frankly, take days!

The soft notes of _'Edele Weiss'_ gave way to the melodious commencement of _'You Are My Sunshine'_, leaving Barren to wonder how many songs a child's crib-mobile could possibly play without having to be rewound. Through the kitchen and out to the garage, Barren stared at the front end of the massive silver Lincoln Navigator, with tires still wet from the puddles it had plowed through on their way back to the townhouse. Front end, still warm from the exertion of the engine and sporting a license plate that indicated that Washington was the _'Evergreen State'_…maybe her husband spoiled her, or maybe he was just so huge he had chosen a vehicle for her that he too would be comfortable driving.

It was possible that she had hidden the key in the huge vehicle and Barren opened the driver door and climbed inside, popping open the center glove compartment. Nothing! No key! She huffed and slammed the compartment closed, trying to convince herself that it was more likely that the key was in fact hidden in the house, but that since she didn't have the time to do a thorough search, she would have to bide her time, build the trust in her new friendship…wait until she could be left alone in the house and search it from top to bottom.

"I guess it works." A soft, unimposing voice cut through her thoughts.

Barren's head snapped up as soon as she heard Nancy's voice. Staring forward wide-eyed, she saw that Nancy was standing in front of the vehicle, one hand on the rise of her belly and the other down to her side. A look of perplexity interwoven with something else flickered across her features and Barren knew she had been caught red handed snooping through the vehicle. She stammered, "I was, I-I…" She stepped out of the Navigator and closed the door, a spasm of guilt.

Nancy shifted her weight from one foot to the other waiting for an explanation as to why Barren had been in the front seat of her vehicle.

"You caught me." Barren laughed nervously. "I love this thing…" She tapped the silver hood of the vehicle with two fingers. "This is what I would have bought if I'd been able to afford it…I'm sorry, I was just indulging for a second." She sighed. "Maybe one day I'll have one of these."

Nancy nodded, still not sure as to whether she believed what Barren was passing off or not. "It's a nice truck." Her voice was soft, holding no hint of reproach.

"And the monitor works out here, too." Barren smiled and handed the receiver to Nancy.

"Well, that's good to know." Nancy turned the tiny receiver over in her hand, eyeballing the sleek finish. "Well…today's been fun…" Nancy began as she entered the house and placed the receiver on the island in the kitchen. "But I probably better finish things up around her and then head out to get Audrey…she has an afternoon practice and Dave should be home around 6, no, 7…I have no idea what I should do for dinner." Nancy wasn't so much bothered by the fact that Barren had been sitting in her truck as she was nervous at the prospect of her husband's arrival home again. And though the nervousness she felt fell decidedly more on the excited side of the scope, she would never admit it out loud. Looking at her watch, she announced. "I still have no concept of time management…I wonder if I ever did."

"I totally understand." Barren said noticing the troubled, tone of Nancy's voice, the way she stumbled over her words and the slight crease of her brow. She placed a hand on the shorter woman's shoulder trying to abate the tension that hovered in the room like a thick fog. "And again, I'm sorry…I just have a thing for SUV's…I apologize if I offended you by sitting in it…I was just sort of fantasizing as to what it might be like to drive it."

Nancy shook her head, "No offense taken, Barren…Truth be told, I was pretty awestruck by it the very first time I saw it after the wreck…you're not the only one with a thing for SUV's." Eager to change the subject, Nancy gestured to the upstairs nursery and then asked. "So you could hear the sounds in the nursery on both floors?"

"Loud and clear." Barren confirmed, as she lifted her wool coat over her shoulders. "I enjoyed lunch and I appreciate you inviting me to help you…maybe we can do it again sometime."

Nancy agreed as she watched Barren leave in Randy's rental car, with the wind following behind her and thunder rumbling softly in the distance, preempting a very unwelcome storm.

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Barren wheeled onto the highway, filled with conflicting emotions. On the one hand she was elated to have finally found a female friend who had no preconceived notions about her…obviously the fact that the woman had no prior memory of _anything_ helped in that area…and on the other hand she was desperate and angry that she still as yet hadn't managed to finagle the whereabouts of her key, out of the woman. Barren had crafted a plan for lunch, completely intent on closing the ever widening gap between her and her key and though the two of them had bounced from topic to topic with easy flow and a very refreshing rapport, Nancy had been more than a little tight-lipped about the events directly following her emergence from her coma.

Those events were the ones that would have given Barren the best clue as to where her key might have gone. She twisted the volume knob all the way to the left ceasing the sound of _NickelBack_ as it blared through the speakers of the Buick scattering her thoughts like papers in a windstorm. Barren cursed her graceful approach to the entire situation. Though she knew that she could have probably asked Nancy outright…told her about the danger and demanded that she give over the key…she also knew that the woman would likely have clammed up completely and sent her on her way with a trespass order in tow. But even if all Barren did was ask politely and come clean, both Nancy and Randy would believe that she had been using them all along. And they would be right…because she was.

Though it wasn't what she had meant to do and though she certainly didn't feel malice in her heart toward either of them…she _was_ in fact taking advantage of the entire lot of them. But wallowing in guilt and self pity wasn't going to help her get her key any faster and snooping while Nancy was in the house wasn't going to help her either. The only plan that she could come up with, though not clearly detailed in her mind was that she had to manage to get Nancy and her husband out of the house and somehow make sure that she could get in the house while they were gone…somehow…and that wasn't even her biggest obstacle. Even if she did manage to get the couple out of the house for a few hours, get herself in and somehow find the key…how in the world was she going to be able to walk away, start over with Owen…and still have her conscience over her deceit intact? It was a house of cards…the whole thing…A house of cards, built on a foundation of lies and it was frighteningly close to crashing right down around her ankles.

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Audrey's head lolled back as she sat on the bottom row of the bleachers, huge tears cutting a path down her cheeks as Nancy bent down in front of her untying her soccer cleat and pulling it gently off of the injured foot.

"It hurts…" Audrey cried. Her chocolate brown eyes were pinched shut, her face lifted toward the ceiling as if she couldn't bear to assess the damage.

Nancy removed the shin guard and then pulled away the long sock, wincing when Audrey belted out a chorus of "Ow, Ow, Owww's!"

"Sorry." Nancy soothed and lifted the ankle slightly higher, viewing the bruise that was forming on the inside. She pressed in with two fingers next to the ankle bone, not exactly sure whether a doctor would have done the same, not sure exactly what _she_ would have ordinarily done herself. "I think we can make it to the doctor's if we leave now…" She pursed her lips together and frowned, remembering that Audrey had done this very thing once before and she prayed that it wasn't a recurring injury that might require surgery. "Was this the same ankle you turned last time?"

Audrey nodded, still crying. "Can I see it?" She asked tearfully and then when Nancy nodded and lifted her leg slowly, Audrey pinched her eyes shut again and announced. "I can't look!"

"You don't _have_ to look at it." Nancy told her and stood up, perching one hand on her hip and the other she fished for her keys in her coat pocket. "Can you sit here while I pull the truck around? Then maybe you can hobble, I can waddle and between the two of us we can make it home before your Daddy does." This had certainly been the last thing she needed. An ankle injury, on top of a fist fight, after a damaged Looney Bag…all three things being incidents which she had conveniently left out of her conversations with her husband.

Not more than an hour later, Nancy was pulling up into the driveway of the town home, thankful that the dying hours of the winter afternoon coupled with the furious lightening and thunder hadn't yet managed to produce a torrential rainfall. But she was more thankful that the ankle injury had merely been a mild sprain, accompanied by the doctor's recommendation that Nancy purchase an ankle brace.

A tall woman in her late fifties exited the town home to the left and approached the vehicle, hands eagerly waving as Nancy waited for the garage door to make its full ascent. "Who's that, Audrey?" Nancy asked nervously as the woman approached.

"It's Ms. Powitzky, but Daddy calls her the Witch Doctor." Audrey informed. "She's nice though, I like her."

Nancy rolled the driver window down as the woman approached. The woman was smiling as if she knew Nancy. Ms. Powitzky was dressed in a deep purple woolen dress somewhere between a standard kimono and a badly put together 'Moo-Moo', with silvery grey hair pulled back into a tight chignon, a bright yellow scarf tied around her neck. She resembled a purple canvas on which the artist had carelessly spilled a tin of cadmium yellow paint. "I am sensing the most _beautiful_ aura of lavender around you today, Nancy!"

Nancy smiled and wondered if perhaps the only thing the woman was seeing was the reflection of her own dress in the side of the silver Navigator's high-dollar paint job. Not sure how she should respond to such a colorful revelation, Nancy thanked the woman and then asked. "What, uh…what does purple mean?"

Ms. Powitzky gesticulated quite animatedly when she announced. "The purple that I see in your aura changes…it's strange…it ripples between lavender and a soft pink…I believe that you have a conflict of emotions…I can read some tea leaves for you, if you like." She offered resting her arms on the door where the window had been rolled down. "The neighbor told me what happened to you, Nancy…I've been away at seminars for a month and so I didn't know about it until just yesterday, but I'm so glad that you and your baby are alright, I always sensed an inner turmoil in you, combated by a fierce inner strength."

Nancy nodded. Not being able to remember whether she bought into the holistic line of thinking and reluctant to insult the woman, Nancy politely declined the offer of a tea-leaf reading, stating that since Audrey had sprained her ankle again she should probably get her inside to relax while she made dinner.

"Oh," Ms. Powitzky frowned and then in an admonishing voice she asked. "You're not planning on using chemically based pain killers on the child, are you?" She clucked her tongue, reproachfully. "Such things raise the level of toxicity in the body to such a degree that one with an underdeveloped immune system such as little Audrey here, won't be able to properly fight off infections or rid herself of little invaders in the blood."

Nancy had half a mind to announce that the only invaders present were the ones occupying the brain of Ms. Powitzky herself, but instead she nodded. "Well, thank you…I'll be sure to, uh, watch the dose."

But the offer wasn't suiting enough for Ms. Powitzky. "Nancy, if you'll wait here, I'll go get the items so that you can make a poultice for her ankle…it will completely relieve the swelling and it's homeopathic with a natural pain reliever that will be absorbed through the skin. There are no side effects." Without giving Nancy time to refuse, she spun on her heels purple woolen skirts fluttering in her wake and disappeared through the front door of her town home.

"So _that's_ why your Daddy calls her the Witch Doctor, huh?"

Audrey nodded and smiled. "You like her." She reminded her skeptical stepmother. "She gave you some stuff to put on a burn once and it went away real fast and didn't hurt anymore…and she showed you how to make _colors_…" Audrey paused, not certain how to describe correctly what she was speaking of. "You know for clothes…like a clothes paint…colors?…whaddya call 'em?"

Nancy thought for a moment. "Dyes?"

"That's it!" Audrey told her and then winced when her exuberance jostled her ankle. "She taught you and Max how to make _'natcherall dies'_"

Nancy nodded, impressed to know that in her very recent past, she had known how to make all 'natural' clothing dye, even if she had no clue how to do it at present.

"So then what you're saying is that _her_ stuff works, and I wasted fifty bucks on these pills at the pharmacy?"

"Those pills will make me puke like they did last time…it's hard to swallow them cause they're huge." Audrey warned. "I think we should try _her_ stuff."

A half hour later, Nancy was more inclined to believe that the bubbling mixture in the saucepan on the stove was more likely to induce Audrey's vomit than _any_ painkiller ever could. Following the recipe to the letter hadn't been difficult as the old woman had given her every single ingredient needed and even supervised the mixing of them before departing through the door on a breeze of cold winter air mixed with the scent of lemon verbena perfume oil. The scent of lemon, however, had faded fast in light of whatever it was in the pot emitting the most heinous scent Nancy was sure she'd ever smelled.

"Okay, now while that cooks, then I can try to figure out what I should make for dinner." Unsure why the mere prospect of cooking terrified her, Nancy rummaged absentmindedly through the pantry wondering what to pair with what and why the whole concept of creating a meal seemed so foreign to her.

"Daddy doesn't like it when you cook." Audrey said hesitantly as she sat in a high-backed barstool next to the kitchen island, with her injured ankle propped up on another stool, bored to tears with her shirt tugged up over her nose to lessen the smell of the Witch Doctor's concoction.

"What do you mean?" Nancy asked, frowning.

"You never _cook_." Audrey announced with a bit more courage.

"Never…"

"Nope." Audrey told her. "You burn stuff and Daddy has to put out fires when you cook."

"What?" Nancy asked laughing. "You're teasing."

Audrey shook her head and in a voice as serious as she could muster, she told her stepmother. "Daddy laughs when you try to cook and Vanessa teases you about it and Daddy teases you too, but _I_ don't."

"Is that a fact?" Nancy furrowed a brow. "So Daddy makes fun of me about my cooking?" Suddenly the memory of the humorous glance exchanged between Barren and Randy the morning before last when she'd offered to make them breakfast, made perfect sense. She was a horrible cook…everybody knew it and her husband hadn't even bothered to remind her of that detail.

"He says that you could burn water." Audrey further confirmed and then with true childlike innocence, she asked. "What does it mean that you could burn water? I thought water puts out fire."

Nancy crooked her lip. What a fine time to find out she was a disaster in her own kitchen. Well, that was just fine…If he could tease, then so could she. "What that _means_ Audrey, is that we're going to play a huge joke on Daddy since he seems to think everything I do is so hilarious." She said dryly, picking up the receiver to the baby monitor that she had left on the island. "Do you wanna help me?"

Audrey nodded smiling brightly and then as if being struck with an unpleasant memory, she corrected herself. "Only not if the joke has stuff that pokes or sticks, because Daddy gets mad when I do that…I left Legos in the floor of the bathroom once for a booby trap and he stepped on them in the dark…he cut his foot on those and he yelled a _loud_, bad word…I don't think he likes jokes that hurt."

Nancy chuckled at Audrey's memory, trying to envision the 6 foot 5 inch man hopping around and cursing up a storm after a nighttime tangle with Lego building blocks, she found herself wishing she could have remembered it firsthand. "Well this joke won't hurt…it'll just be really funny…and we won't have time to clue in Vanessa on what were doing since she's not home yet…" Nancy announced glancing at the delicate platinum watch on her wrist. "So _she_ might end up getting the brunt of the joke too."

The two exchanged conspiratorial grins and set about putting the plan rapidly into action.

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Dave Batista couldn't stop the involuntary sigh of satisfaction that passed his lips the moment that the garage door closed behind the Ferrari and he shut the outside world…out. He was glad to be home, the trip of only a few days having felt somewhat like an eternity. Vanessa waved at him from her standing position in front of her car, which she had just seconds before him, pulled into the garage.

"Hey Daddy." Her voice was filled with worry, over the slight oil leak on the garage floor. "It's leaking oil, and I just barely got it changed after school…I don't know what's wrong."

_She_ might not have known what was wrong, but he did. He smiled as he rounded the front of his car, leaning down to dip a finger in the tiny teaspoon-sized dollop of oil…

"I'll bet they just didn't tighten the bolt on the oil pan." He told her, hugging her shoulders, glad when his apparent knowledge of the solution brought forth a grateful smile and a tiny whispered 'Thank God' from Vanessa. "Let me change my clothes and I'll come back out and tighten it."

Both he and Vanessa went through the inner door leading to the house and were abruptly met with the stench of something he could not fully describe. It wasn't simply stale but rather it was bordering on rancid! Dave curled his lips up and sniffed the air, and then felt Vanessa shake his arm in silent panic as she pointed to the source of the odor.

Dave's eyes followed Vanessa's outstretched hand to where his wife stood stirring something on the stove, while his youngest daughter sat lazily on a barstool, one foot propped up with an icepack reading from her school History book. He could positively identify one of the malodorous components as kelp and only because he had been forced to endure _that_ particular smell once before during a body-wrap gone bad. The other smells eluded his perception, but the absolute certainty was that it stunk to high heavens and his pregnant wife with her back to him, held the poise of a five star chef in the midst of it.

The most disturbing piece of the scene was that she was completely comfortable cooking whatever it was she was cooking…and she couldn't remember that she was, in fact…a horrid cook. _She_ couldn't remember because _he_ hadn't bothered to tell her, secretly thinking that the blow to her head might have jarred something loose, perhaps making her a little less incompetent in the kitchen. Another step forward, after placing a finger to his lips to ensure Vanessa's silence and then he spoke. "What's brewing in here?" His deep voice was measured and even, with no hint of disgust. Despite the temptation to scoff at the stench he held his expression neutral, the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her feelings.

She turned toward him and smiled brightly, pale green eyes flickering. His heart nearly petered to a halt. The smell had all but subsided when he caught a glimpse of her after days of not setting eyes on her. The top she wore was strapless, save for the string of glass beads in soft shades of lavender that encircled the smooth skin of her throat to hold the top up. The beads met in the center of her chest cinching the fabric connected to an amulet shaped like a flower and below that, layers of soft sage silk cascaded down softly over the round belly ending just slightly below her hips. Her legs peeked out from beneath the flirty fringe of a skirt in darker green and she stood there barefoot three feet away from a pair of lavender Minolo Blaniks, holding in her hand a wooden spoon. He was ever so tempted to banish his children to the second floor, throw out whatever the hell she was cooking and then fulfill his desire for dessert with her right then and there.

"Dinner." Nancy told him in answer to his question watching the almost imperceptible shift of his expression from desire to fear…possibly fear over what was boiling furiously in the pot. He hid it well, but not quite well enough. "It's cold so I thought we'd try some soup…its homemade vegetarian…I guess they call it 'vegan'?"

Vanessa shifted nervously next to her father and Nancy half thought the two of them might tuck tail and run. But they didn't…and so because he had failed to tell her that she was a lousy cook and since she now knew that he also made fun of her about it…she wasn't about to let him run away. Oh…no…he was in for it…and though she wasn't certain of exactly _why_ she felt such an irresistible need to tease him, tease him she would.

It might even serve as a means of revenge for his persistent pestering…constant touching and his unchecked sexual insinuations, ones that he had concealed beneath the veil of innocence. Nancy would simply consider it payback for his continuous cornering of her in tight spaces where she could not escape his stares and her body's own reaction to him. But who was feeling the pressure now, as he stood with his necktie askew, shirt unbuttoned showing a smooth shiny expanse of copper skin? Nancy watched as he rolled his sleeves up on his forearms casting a cautiously curious glance in the direction of her concoction. Her heart was thumping and she had nearly forgotten the painful throb in her lower back.

_'You like his pestering.'_ Her conscience told her and she politely told it to _'shut up'._

"Vegan, huh?" Dave confirmed tentatively.

"Yep." Nancy responded controlling a smile when she noticed the involuntary clenching of his jaw as he tried desperately to conceal a frown. "And I worked _very_ hard on this, so if you and Vanessa would like to have a seat in the living room, I'll call you when it's ready." Her voice was cheerful as she dipped the wooden spoon back into the boiling mess.

She turned noticing that Audrey was fighting madly trying to keep a straight face. Nancy had known it might happen, and she was prepared, popping a Little Debbie Donut into Audrey's mouth, preventing the emergence of a laugh.

"Can I have one of those?" Dave attempted to reach for the box, but Nancy swatted his hand, snatched the box out of the way and told him to 'beat it'.

"Why does _she_ get a donut before dinner?" he asked, his childish question in sharp contrast with his very masculine stance.

"Because _she_ has an injured ankle." Nancy said matter-of-factly, barring his access to the box of donuts, by holding them in one hand behind her back. "You're gonna ruin my surprise." She warned placing her hand on his chest, unsettled by his nearness, feeling the slightest buzz of pleasure when her hand met the solid wall of muscle. "_Please_ go sit in the living room until I'm done."

He smiled suspiciously and then motioned for Vanessa whose face had gone nearly blue, as she tried discreetly to hold her breath. Bucking once more for a donut, Dave grimaced painfully and spoke. "Did I mention that my back hurts? All those bumps I took…"

One elegant eyebrow rose in defiance, along with her chin. "Go…"

Audrey stared at her injured ankle to avoid laughing and didn't raise her head until her father and her sister had gone out into the living room, leaving her and her stepmother to their plan.

Nancy motioned silence as she pulled the receiver out of the island drawer and turned the volume on the lowest setting so they could listen to whatever was being said in the living room, where Nancy had earlier hidden the baby monitor beneath the stack of resin balls in a copper bowl on the sofa table.

Vanessa pouted as she flopped down next to her father on the sofa. "_What_ is she doing cooking?" She asked fearfully. "Didn't you tell her she doesn't know how to cook?"

"I sort of left that out." Dave tugged his tie from around his neck and let it fall onto the coffee table.

"_Dad_!" She hissed in a whisper and then threw her hands over her face. "Please tell me we won't be eating that…you know I have a very well documented gag reflex…I'll never make it through dinner without throwing up."

"Okay, don't panic." He leaned forward, his face set with determination. "We need to come up with _something_…because I don't think I'll make it through without throwing up either."

After a few seconds of thoughtful contemplation, Vanessa piped up. She waved her hands wildly as she whispered her personal solution. "Oooh! I know what I can do." She bounced on the couch in excitement. "I'll tell her that I ate at Meredith's house before I came home and that I'm not hungry!"

"Hold on, just wait a minute." Dave told her waving a hand for her to be quiet. "That'll never work." He then cleared his throat and hollered out to his wife, completely unsuspecting of the surveillance he was currently under. "Hey, uh…Nancy?"

A wide smile drifted across her face as she stood in the kitchen ear to ear with Audrey, listening to the conversation through the receiver. Nancy responded. "Yes?"

"Watch this…" Dave grinned nudging Vanessa, and then he announced out loud. "I wanted to ask what you were making for dessert, because _I_ ate at the airport and so I'm not really hungry…but Vanessa said she's starving."

"Oh, gosh, that's too bad." Nancy feigned sadness. "Maybe you could just try a bite or two…" She forced a tremble of contrived sorrow into her voice. "I spent such a long time on this and I looked forever for a recipe that wouldn't conflict with your diet…Audrey told me you like to stay in good shape." She even let her voice break for effect.

In his guilt, he held off telling his wife that the reason she spent a long time on it was either because she had grossly overcooked it or because whatever was in the pot had probably been long dead before being put there and was now fit for buzzards, not for the four of them.

Vanessa wound up her fist and punched her father in the arm interrupting his thoughts, her face contorted and she whispered fiercely. "You stole my lie!"

"Ow…" He rubbed his arm. "It's okay, calm down…I have a plan."

She frowned and scoffed. "I already _had_ a plan!" She followed her statement with another punch to his arm.

He laughed slightly, dodging another blow, amused by his daughter's fear of his wife's cooking. "_I'll_ be noble and take one for the team." He explained, pretending to be humble. "I'll offer to carry her…_soup_…to the table and pretend to trip…of course if I smell it long enough I might pass out and actually drop it for real."

Vanessa cackled alongside her father. "You better 'sell' it and make it look real." She warned as the two of them laughed. "And you _better_ make sure you spill every last drop of it so we don't have to eat _any_ of it."

He angled a glance toward his partner in crime. "You just better hope that's the _only_ batch of it and she doesn't have more of it hiding in there." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "God help us all if she decides to whip up another round of it.

"This is all your fault, you know…you should have told her she can't cook." Vanessa groaned at the mere mention of more and flopped back on the sofa, waiting for the dreaded call to dinner.

Nancy and Audrey regained full composure after listening to the evil duo's plan to wreck her 'soup' and she turned the fire off beneath the mixture, watching the bubbles cease. "No matter what I say, just go along with it, okay? And _don't_ laugh." She whispered.

Audrey nodded and then supplied her own devious suggestion. "I bet they wouldn't die if they ate a little of it…and there would still be enough for my ankle…then we could see them both puke for real."

"I think scaring them ought to be good enough for now." Nancy pulled the 'soup' off of the stove and then she craned her head out toward the living room. "Dinner's ready!" Her voice rang out, sending shivers of fear through Dave and his oldest daughter.

Propelled into action by the horror of being forced to eat the putrid soup, Dave hopped up off of the sofa. "I'll get that soup if you wanna have a seat." He was shadowed by Vanessa who appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, hot on his heels, ready to help should he manage to fail.

Nancy smiled sweetly and blinking twice, she addressed Dave. "_You_ have to carry Audrey. She's hurt, remember? So _I'll_ get the soup." Her death grip on the pot had _him_ sweating bullets, while on the inside she was getting an immense measure of satisfaction.

"Then I'll carry it." Vanessa barked, reaching her hands out with hopeful eyes, watering but hopeful eyes.

"_You_ can get the bowls." Nancy tilted her head to indicate the prim stack of four bowls inside of which nestled four silver spoons and perfectly folded cloth napkins.

As soon as Nancy started toward the dining room, Dave panicked, stepping in her path, effectively blocking her way. "You're tired, right? I'll get all of this for you…the soup, Audrey, the bowls…I'll carry everything…_you_ have a seat."

She almost laughed out loud at the look of horror that he fought to conceal as the smell of the mixture wafted beneath his nose. As calmly as she possibly could, Nancy sniffed with an air of superiority and announced in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I dare say that for someone with an _aching_ back, you move awfully quickly."

"I just wanna help." His voice was deep and his statement was followed by a single hard cough when he was forced to inhale, yet another whiff of the pungent seaweed mixture to which Nancy's nose had already become accustomed.

After a few tense seconds and two more hard coughs, Nancy let the insistent smirk break across her countenance even as she put an end to the charade and through a tiny silken laugh she announced. "You can relax…This isn't dinner."

"It's _not_?" His eyes widened wondering if she might be testing him and then after determining by her apparent amusement that she was telling him the truth he placed one masculine palm over his heart in relief. Both he and Vanessa sighed simultaneously, their sheer gratitude outwardly echoed in stereo.

"Big baby." Nancy said under her breath and then turned, high-fiving Audrey as the girl broke out into uncontrollable laughter. "Lucky for you two…Audrey reminded me that you both _detest_ my cooking."

"I shoulda known you were in on this…you always take her side…whatever she's paying you, I'll double it." Dave said to his youngest daughter with a grin that spoke of revenge to come, and then focusing his attention on Nancy he asked. "If it's not dinner…then…_what_ is it?" He made no further attempts to conceal his disgust as he backed away from the pot. "Do I even wanna know?"

"It's for Audrey's sprained ankle…Ms. Powitzky recommended it."

"Ah, so the Witch Doctor was here." He stated, reaching for the box of donuts, but he wasn't fast enough, as Nancy swept by with the pot in one hand, snatching up the box of donuts with the other.

"_Dinner_ is marinating in the fridge…so you better fire up the grill." She nodded to him, gifting Audrey with another donut just for the sake of taunting him.

Dave frowned and stood in the spot appraising her as she put away the donuts and placed her soup poultice on the counter to cool. Bossy, spicy…what had happened while he was away? Whatever it was he thought he liked it…and so in eagerness to play her game and in pure defiance, he spoke. "I don't know if I wanna grill whatever it is you marinated."

"You really _are_ a big baby…well, we can always eat the steaks raw…I don't think there have been any recent outbreaks of 'Mad Cow' in Seattle, do you?" She announced, just as a loud clap of thunder shook the house, educing a tiny jerk from Dave and causing all three girls to jump.

"You're gonna make me grill in bad weather?" Just looking at the smirk on her face was turning him on, as was the way one hand rested on her hip, while the other was planted on the edge of the island. Everything about his wife exuded playful rebelliousness…and every muscle in his body was straining with the unspoken challenge.

"It's ugly out there." He tipped his chin toward the door

"You'll live."

"It's raining." He argued, taking a step closer to her, wanting to touch her curls.

"There's a roof over the deck, you'll be fine."

"It's cold." He told her, wishing he could drag her forward bodily and kiss her senseless.

"You're a Chicken…" She smiled deviously.

A strange sort of silence fell over the room as he watched her stare at him, a mocking grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, the green of her eyes more luminous. He returned the smile, took a deep breath to steady his frazzled nerves and cool his ardor and then opened the refrigerator, pulling out the pan of marinating steaks.

"I will hand over my chef's hat to Vanessa who can supervise the steaming of the vegetables…while I put this stuff on Audrey." Nancy announced, turning to check on Audrey's ankle.

"Anything, as long as we don't have to eat your 'soup'." Dave teased and then upon taking a closer look at the pan in his hands, he noticed something amiss. Then he laughed, shaking his head.

"What?" Nancy asked.

His laugh grew louder and then after she asked a second time, he placed the pan on the counter and leaned back against it, overcome with hilarity. A week of prickly tension behind the curtain and tiresome hours on the road, fizzled away instantly, lifted by the lighthearted moment and the ever comical personality of his wife.

"What is _so_ funny?" She asked, confused and annoyed by the fact that he was laughing at steaks marinating in _his_ very own recipe. "I _know_ I didn't screw these up, because I used _your_ recipe." She thrust the index card with his handwriting toward him, accusingly. "I did everything it says, so I _know_ those steaks are okay."

"Yeah, you did put _everything_ in there." He agreed and then shook his head, sighing as his laughter finally died down to a respectable tone. He withdrew a tenderizing mallet from the drawer behind him, and gently let it tap the steak in the pan. Nancy's ears were met with the sound of metal on frozen meat, a hard '_thunk'_. And then with a chuckle he announced, "Nancy, you're supposed to thaw the steaks _before_ you marinate them...especially if you plan on eating them the same night."

Vanessa began to laugh out loud, followed by Audrey, who had no idea why she was laughing, but was just as content to chime in.

A crimson blush seeped from her chest up into her face and Nancy grimaced, her nose wrinkling up with an innocent smile. "Oops…Well it said 15 minute marinade on the card, I just assumed…"

He let out the laughter once more, thinking of the frozen steaks that would never have soaked up the marinade and out of reaction he stepped forward and brushed a curl away from her forehead when what he really wanted to do was kiss her.

"I'll get take-out." His voice was a rich and pleasant rumble and it soothed her botched attempt at being the victor in the battle of wits for the evening. "How does Greek sound?" He asked, as his finger dared of its own volition to reach out and touch the amulet between her breasts.

"Do I like Greek?" Her eyes looked up to find his.

A strong burning ache thrummed through him at the double entendre that had been lost on her completely. And though he was half tempted to make some wisecrack about a Big Greek Sausage, he would leave that type of humor to Max. Instead, seeing a perfect opportunity to further frustrate her in much the same way he found himself frustrated, he smiled and then leaned in toward her speaking low so his daughters could not hear. "I know you don't remember, but I'm Filipino…" He proceeded to inform her, and tilted his hand back and forth. "And I'm Greek too…so I can vouch that you _very_ much like 'Greek'." A swift kiss on the cheek and he backed up in time to see her eyes widen with revelation and then she narrowed a glance his way.

He winked and then shook his head, smiling; knowing he had bested her in the duel and then he dropped a kiss onto the top of Audrey's head and tugged on his jacket. "Come on Vanessa, let's go get dinner, before she changes her mind and forces that soup down my throat."

Nancy found herself smiling, despite the fact that he had managed to have the last laugh…but she wasn't _just_ smiling. Her heart was racing, her mind was racing and she quickly found herself trying to think of other ways to get the better of her husband.

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He watched the pretty brunette as she kissed her date goodnight and slowly dragged herself away from the passenger seat of his car. Evan knew that he had the right woman. This was without a doubt, Samantha Whitten. But the man, with whom she'd just been locked in an embrace, was not Randy Orton. Either the Social Column of the _Nixa Missouri Gazette_ had a gross misprint and Randy Orton and Samantha Whitten were not engaged, or Samantha was a _very_ naughty girl. He looked at the picture once more…the brunette with a toothy smile perched behind Randy Orton for the photo…they didn't suit, in Evan's opinion. Both smiles seemed to be a cover for a stress filled relationship. Even the pose that the two had taken seemed rigid, stiff and unloving. Evan lifted his gaze once more as her high-heels scraped along the flagstone walkway.

She straightened the strap of her dress. No doubt it had fallen during the physical passion in the front seat of the car, and then with the tiniest giggle of mirth, she whipped her long hair over one shoulder and bent down to retrieve the key that had slipped from her grasp. Her stance was wobbly. Perhaps she was a bit tipsy. The door came open after the key finally found its way into the lock and he heard her laugh again when something fell to the floor as she entered; something he could not identify from his position behind the neighbor's hedge of evergreens.

The lights in the back bedroom soon went dark and Evan came out from the hedge and made his way to her back door. He waited by the screen door for almost twenty minutes just to make certain that no one inside was up and about and then he jimmied the lock and let himself into the laundry room. He found himself surrounded by bras and pantyhose hanging in the shadows, stretching out like sensual fingertips from their position pinned on the makeshift clothesline. The toe of his boot accidentally nudged a pair of high-heels when he took a step, but they made almost no noise, when they tipped over.

He found his way through the darkened kitchen, barely illuminated by the glare of a streetlamp. The broken light showed him a half empty water bottle laying on it's side on the table next to a hair barrette and then turning, he spied a dishtowel that had surely fallen from the oven handle to rest on the tile floor. A purse lay on the rug against one side of the sofa and he reached carefully inside of it, pulling the wallet from its recesses and then upon closer inspection of the license, he realized that Miss Prim & Proper Samantha had a roommate. The blonde with a California license, though not unattractive, bore no resemblance to the striking Samantha. He glanced around and replaced the wallet once he spied another handbag, hanging from the doorknob of the hall closet. He lifted the wallet out, flipping through pictures and business cards with silent precision, replacing those that he found useless and then pocketing the ones that he deemed worth a second look.

He then palmed her cell phone, turning it off, sliding the back out and then extracted the smartcard containing all of the pertinent information, phone numbers addresses she might have entered…all of the things that he'd not been able to glean from his scrutiny of the Orton's ranch, where he'd found the article detailing the engagement. He inserted the smartcard into the port of his palm pilot and copied the entire scope of information, sending it to his hard drive. He then used her smartcard and programmed his very own phone to receive duplicate texts and duplicate caller id displays, so that each time she received a call or a text message from Randy Orton, he too would be informed instantly and without her knowledge.

He knew that he would have to wait until he went back to the hotel to browse the information he'd copied so that he could concentrate on finding Randy's number and possibly his location, through a trace. But Evan didn't want to leave Dear Samantha just yet. Evan hadn't laid eyes on her roommate in person, but he had certainly laid eyes on Samantha…and he decided that he desperately wanted to lay hands on her too.

He felt his manhood swell as he crept down the hall, finding himself in her doorway, watching her as she slept. Half uncovered, wearing only a tank top and panties…this was going to be easy. At the side of her bed, he witnessed her stir in her sleep, rolling flat on her back. And as he bent over her, he heard the sound of the bathroom door closing down the hall. Samantha's roommate was up and a glance at the clock on the bedside table told him that Sullivan was going to come unglued if he wasn't back soon.

"Sweetheart…" He whispered softly. "You just got saved by the bell." He leaned further over her sleeping figure, smelling a mixture of floral cologne and wine. And then he gently ran his tongue from the bridge of her nose to the center of her forehead, backing away stealthily when she stirred once more in her drunken sleep, but didn't waken.

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"You don't wanna watch it." Dave told Nancy referring to the televised SmackDown that had already aired, but been set to automatically record on the DVR. The last thing he wanted was to have her watching it and detect his nervousness around the interaction with Candace. Women were hellishly intuitive creatures. And in the entire time he had known Nancy, she had proved herself to be extremely instinctive, though subtly so.

"Maybe I'll remember something, by watching." Nancy said, standing by the cutlery drawer, stirring honey into her tea and glancing nervously toward the flashing lightning as it lit up the entire house.

"Oh come on, Daddy." Vanessa said stealing a marshmallow from Audrey's cocoa. "We always watch it, you know that."

He angled a crooked frown toward his oldest daughter, suddenly wishing she had homework.

"I need cinnamon." Audrey announced, pointing to her cocoa.

Nancy turned to reach into the cabinet above her where she had seen the cinnamon when reaching for the honey, but her lack of height and the round belly in her way put the bottle just millimeters out of her reach.

Seeing her struggle, Dave pushed back his own after dinner coffee drink, and crossed the kitchen to reach the bottle of spice for her. Standing behind her, he lifted his hand to reach over her head, when the clasp of his watch caught in her curls, snarling hopelessly.

"Ow, Ouch…" She laughed as he reached over her shoulder with the other hand, trying to untangle the strands.

His hands were unsteady, his abdomen was flush against her back, his arms encircling her as he worked feverishly to disentangle her hair. Just the closeness to her after so many nights of not making love to her was obliterating his concentration. The touch of her silken curls, the smell of her perfume all conspiring to make his blood boil, causing his fingers to tremble, making his hands nothing more than useless appendages.

"Here let me try." Nancy laughed and reached upward, her fingers grazing his as she very easily unwound the curl from the clasp.

He let out a shaky laugh, more for the purpose of easing the nervousness than anything else. Try as he might he couldn't remain completely unaffected by her…he couldn't move away, even after he reached the cinnamon and placed the bottle on the counter top beside her teacup.

"Thanks." She whispered looking at him over her shoulder, wondering why he wasn't moving away from her…yet intrigued by the realization that she appreciated his nearness. Though the sounds of the storm went unheard, and the presence of two daughters seemed temporarily forgotten, the sudden painful lodging of an infant boy's foot in her ribcage caught her attention and she grimaced slightly.

Dave noticed and calmly inquired. "What?"

"Just a foot." She laughed, "I guess it's his favorite place…my ribs."

"It is." He told her. "He always does that…Lemme show you how—" He gestured, reaching around her belly with his left hand. "I know how to make him move his foot…this is the side he always hooks his toes in." Dave explained as he encircled her with his arm and then very softly and slowly ran the tips of his fingers back and forth across his son's foot. Though his soft touch was tiny and to the casual observer, trivial, it did the trick and the baby boy dislodged his toes from her ribcage. "I'm not sure why, but that's the only thing that gets him to move…maybe he's ticklish…like you are."

Her heart thumped loudly…or perhaps it was just the last few remnants of the wall of her resistance as it crumbled away. She couldn't move a muscle as the true meaning of the gesture washed over her. He still hadn't removed his hand and she searched his face, desperate to remember something, anything. And then remarkably she had the feeling that remembering didn't so much matter anymore.

A simple touch…but not so simple, because he _knew_. He knew the biggest most important things about her life events, knew every facet of her talents with fashion of her lack of talent in the kitchen and he knew even the tiniest things about the baby inside of her…he knew how a soft tickle with fingertips was enough to make the boy move his foot. Only a man who loved his wife would know those things…and the lump forming in her throat prevented her from telling him thanks. Without thinking, her hand fell to the place on her stomach where his hand was…the feel of roughened knuckles beneath the skin of her fingers, sparking an unknown emotion.

Dave felt his brow pleat, and his jaw tighten when he saw the range of emotions as they played across her face. He felt her hand on his and he looked down, the sparkle of a diamond catching his eye. Perhaps it had been because he'd always taken it for granted, that he hadn't noticed until just this second that she had been wearing the wedding ring. He remembered standing in the hall of the hospital wishing she would put it on, remembered being a little disappointed in the time since bringing her home, because she hadn't worn it.

Before he could comment on the ring or even gauge the meaning of the look on her face, a bolt of lightening glittered wildly, followed by a loud clap of thunder and then the lights went out.

Audrey shouted her delight. "Woo-hoo! Blackout!"

Vanessa on the other hand, offered to find a flashlight and then standing, she fumbled through the kitchen toward the garage, where her father's toolbox waited patiently in a corner, next to his golf clubs.

"Stay here." Dave told Nancy after clearing a lump from his throat. "I don't want you falling over something." He didn't see her nod her head in the dark nor did he see her smile and blink away the tears.

"Can we sit in the living room and tell scary stories?" Audrey asked excitedly, her petite silhouette lit up by another bolt of lightening, but Nancy's answer was cut short.

"Dead Batteries." Dave announced from the doorway, holding the useless flashlight in his hand. "Vanessa, can you find some candles?"

The teenager rummaged through the drawers on the opposite side of the kitchen, finding nothing but utensils and paperwork, dishtowels and phonebooks.

After a few seconds of fruitless searching, the lights came back on suddenly, to everyone but Audrey's relief. And then that's when it happened…

Max jumped out from the hallway, with a loud comical roar. Nancy jumped with a start, shouting, along with Vanessa who belted out with an earsplitting scream. Audrey twitched with a touch of surprise but then began to laugh. Dave on the other hand appeared slightly perturbed that the man's entrance had startled even him.

"Damn you, Max." Dave muttered, glaring.

Water dripped from Max's bright yellow parka and his damp hair stood on end seconds after he plowed his hand through it. "What are you guys up to?" His toothy grin indicated that he seemed tickled to have scared the whole lot of them.

Dave shook his head, tossing the flashlight into a drawer, the image of cuffing Max in the back of the head entering his mind for a split second.

"We were gonna tell scary stories." Audrey told him.

"Oh really?" Max asked with an air of mystery. "Nancy must not have told you that I know all the very most _terrifying_ stories to tell in a thunderstorm." Max said wickedly and then he made mock claws out of his hands and then twisted his face letting his eye teeth hang over his bottom lip. Then he hobbled like a hunchback toward Audrey letting out a boisterous wail of terror that brought forth a laugh and a squeal of fear from Audrey.

Nancy stood intrigued as she watched the interaction between the two of them. They both seemed to have an ornery streak a mile wide. And though Nancy had no memory of Max's antics she wasn't bothered by them, she found them rather amusing.

"I assume you just got in?" Dave asked.

"Yeah, I walked into the studio, turned the lights on and then they went right out. I will clean up that mess tomorrow by the way…" Max said, pulling his parka off, splattering droplets of rain all over the kitchen floor. "I was coming over here, because you guys have several flashlights and I have _none_…" He turned to Nancy. "When do you think you'll see fit to endow your employees with the proper equipment…I mean how can I work in these conditions?" He lifted his hands in a gesture of false injustice. "No flashlights, no pension plan…no sandwiches or soda's in the mini fridge?"

Nancy laughed and turned to Dave who shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement as he spoke. "And so you decided to get revenge and scare the hell out of everyone instead?"

Max nodded. "Pretty much…I'd pay money to have caught the look on your face on film." He pointed directly toward Dave.

Dave scoffed. "You didn't scare me."

"You scared _me_." Audrey said, eyes wide.

Pleased that his efforts had worked on at least one member of the clan, Max bowed low and said. "Why thank you, Audrey…I just do what I can."

After a generous round of begging on Audrey's part, the discovery of fresh batteries for the flashlight and the second black-out of the night, everyone consented to move into the living room and be entertained by Max's tales of fright.


	20. Chapter 19

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 19

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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This chapter is dedicated to my Grandfather, Preston Othell Hadaway, who taught me how to whistle, how to change the oil in my car and made it perfectly acceptable for us to beg our parents to stay an extra week at their house in the summer!

You will be missed!

November 4th, 1923 – July 29th, 2006.

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"A woman can forgive a man for the harm he does her...but she can never forgive him for the sacrifices he makes on her account."

**W. Somerset Maugham**, _The Moon and Sixpence_  
_English dramatist & novelist (1874 - 1965)_

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"What if we just, sort of sent them on their way?" Barren asked, seated comfortably in the cradle of Randy's body as the two reclined on the sofa watching the veritable lightshow created by the wickedly thrashing thunderstorm. "What if we forced them to go on a date and then offered to watch Audrey and Vanessa?"

Randy rolled his fingertips over Barren's arms and laughed softly at the suggestion. "He's one of the most stubborn people I've ever met…you can't force a man like Dave Batista to do anything." Randy explained as a clap of thunder preceded by a blinding flash of light, shook the rafters above them. "You can suggest that he should do something and then hope for the best…but if you try to get pushy, you can end up with a few less teeth in your mouth."

Barren nodded, relishing the feel of her back pressed against Randy's chest. "Okay, so we can nicely _suggest_ that he let us keep his kids while he sweeps his wife away for a couple of days."

"Why?"

Barren clasped Randy's insubordinate hands together between her own in an attempt to stymie their rebellious foray. "Well, because Nancy seems so honestly stressed and I think that if we could manage to get the two of them _alone_ with no outside interference, except for maybe the intrusion of some room service, then their marriage might normalize."

"Oh, come on, Barren…their marriage is fine." Randy assured in a low voice.

"She's having doubts." Barren told him gently, hesitantly. "Obviously not remembering anything, on top of the rumors at the hospital and the fact that they've had no time alone has something to do with it…She feels no connection to him, right now." A monumental lie that she hated to tell, but she knew that if she didn't give the entire situation a nudge toward the edge that it might never start rolling toward resolution on its own. And it certainly wouldn't clear the way for her to regain possession of her key. "Nancy told me that if her memory doesn't return soon that she's thinking of leaving him."

The statement was as far from the truth as anything could have been, especially when Barren recalled the way Nancy had admitted during their lunch earlier that she was going to cease trying so hard to piece her past back together and just let herself experience what God had given her. Nancy had even admitted to Barren that she had the strangest feeling she and her husband were making an emotional connection and that even though she was hesitant, she was determined to make an honest effort to rebuild the connections. Barren could never reveal the true gist of the conversation to Randy. She knew that in order to get into the house and have a thorough search, she would have to insert a sense of urgent urgency into the plan, even if she had to be deceitful in order to do so.

Randy sat up, disturbed by what he'd just heard. "I can't believe she would go to that extreme, are you sure she wasn't kidding?" His brow creased and he chewed his lip in perplexity. "That just doesn't even sound like her."

"How many of the things that she's done lately, have been ordinary, Randy…think about it." Barren informed him. "She made me promise not to say anything, but I hate to keep a secret like this. That's why we have to help out…because I think it would be a serious problem if she left."

"It sure as hell _would_ be a problem and Dave would never let it happen." He said firmly, envisioning the temper-fit he knew would follow a revelation of that magnitude. "Besides that, I don't know where in the hell she thinks she would _go_…" Randy said, "She has no family…I don't know all the details, but she really has _nowhere_ to go…except maybe to Max's parents. And I know Dave well enough to know he's not just gonna hand her the money and give her his blessing, especially when there's a baby involved. He would come uncorked at the mere suggestion." A troubled sigh vibrated past his lips, another problem that he had no solution for, and no desire to add to the list of the ones he currently faced.

"Okay, so don't you think we should keep this little secret to ourselves and do some behind the scenes manipulation of their itineraries?" Barren felt a rapid stab of contrition for her lie, followed by sadness for the betrayal of her new friend. "You know that if we tell him, he'll likely flip out and confront her, then she'll either crawl back into her shell or take off into the sunset…it could get nasty."

He nodded, knowing that it could. Randy still couldn't dismiss the feeling of sheer confusion and shock over the thought that Nancy would be wishing to leave. Even through the smoke of her amnesia she certainly had been given every opportunity to see what a wonderful life she had. It baffled and troubled him, but it also reminded him that it was his fault she was in this position to begin with. The fact that he had plowed into a tree while giving her a ride was the sole reason for her loss of memory and the birth of all of the doubt that apparently had her wishing to leave her husband. Randy felt obligated to help whether he was equipped to or not. "Well, I suppose we could try something."

Barren smiled and then announced excitedly. "It can't be anything where they are gone more than a day or two, because her doctor won't allow it."

Randy nodded slowly, lost in thought. "And Dave has several commitments, with the pay-per-view and his endorsement deal with MuscleTech…" He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "How do you fit a lifetime worth of romance into an overnight getaway?"

"You don't." Barren told him, turning around and straddling his legs. "You just set up the getaway and the rest happens on it's own…it doesn't even have to seem like the right place and the right time, because if they love each other, then it will be right…just like it is with us."

Randy was sure she hadn't meant for it to sound like an admission of love, but it had…it had to his ears. He curled his hands around her hips and stared up at her, watching the lightning cast a rusted crimson glow to her auburn tresses. He could almost imagine that she did love him. Not that it mattered, because no matter how he felt about her, no matter how quickly he found himself falling for her, he still had the sense that her heart belonged to someone else. And just maybe…it always would. "He leaves for Los Angeles for the Pay-Per-View in two days…the best we could hope for is to somehow engineer it so that she ends up going with him."

"That's perfect!" Barren smiled. "If we work it right, then they'll be back to normal in no time."

Randy sighed, reluctant to meddle with Dave's schedule. It was a bit like tugging a tiger's tail. "Why does this seem like such a twisted version of _'The Parent Trap'_?" He had visions of himself trying to find a place to hide. "And why do I get the feeling that I'm gonna regret this?"

Barren shrugged, and then the two set about the task of planning a very covert getaway for two completely unsuspecting people.

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With no electricity for several hours, Dave had been spared the awkwardness of sitting through the taped episode of SmackDown with the fear of his wife and daughters noticing the tension between himself and Candice the Vamp. But _that_, was last night…and now it was morning, her side of the bed was empty and the sounds of breakfast and loud chatter were floating upward from the lower floor as he pushed himself up from the mattress.

Dave could hear the clamor of Max's voice, along with the musical tinkle of Audrey's laughter and he turned the corner in time to see milk come out of her nose. Vanessa was shaking her head in humorous disgust at Max and Audrey but it was the familiar sounds of Michael Cole and Tazz in their descriptive commentary that caused his head to spin around, taking his body with it. Hammering in his chest, his heart knew that she would sense the tension and hesitation even through a television screen, even through the cloak of her amnesia…and he was scared shitless.

Cross-legged on the sofa, she was leaning as far forward as her very round belly would allow, immersed in the match between Michelle McCool and Jillian Hall. Maybe if he suggested teaching her how to cook, then he could possibly drag her away from the television before she could see his interaction with Candice. She must have known he was in the room even though he hadn't yet made any noise, for she turned her head and smiled slightly.

Nancy watched the match with more than just interest. Some element about the athleticism in the match piqued her curiosity. "Why is this familiar to me?" Her voice was laced with excitement and her face was lit with inquisitiveness.

The flushing of her cheeks as she watched made her all the more attractive to him and he sat down beside her, prompted as much by desire, as by a need to fill her in on the reason for her recognition. "You have a little first hand knowledge of it."

"Maybe it's just because I watch you wrestle." She angled a glance sideways. "It's weird though, it feels like I know the moves…how do I know that that's an arm drag?"

Dave stared at the screen watching Michelle roll to her feet after the arm drag and then he spoke. "It's a long story, but you've wrestled before." He didn't know that he had the time it would take to explain to her how she'd unwittingly incited the anger of a scheming General Manager and been put in a match in order to learn a lesson. Nor could he accurately detail how she'd been blackmailed and had cemented her feelings for him by helping him win a match that she had been required to lose, and furthermore he didn't know that she would even believe him.

"Oh, yeah right." She laughed in disbelief and then returned her attention to the television.

Max supplied his own affirmation. "It's true…you did wrestle before…two matches…" He winked when he saw both Nancy and Dave twist their heads around acknowledging his presence. "You won both of them."

"I think you're both lying." She dismissed them with lighthearted laughter, but inside she had her doubts. What if they weren't teasing? Was it possible that she had toyed around with some aspect of wrestling? Even now as she watched, she could see every move telegraphed on the screen of her brain, the same way that the pattern for Vanessa's dress had been, the night she'd seen it in the trash. Every move was as easily recognizable as any inherent thing could be…the drop-kick, the elbow, a chest chop, followed by a chorus of 'Wooo's'…and that seemed oddly familiar though she couldn't know for certain why. It was extremely interesting and slightly frightening, knowing that she knew, but not knowing how it was that she knew. The match was over in short order and then the commentators announced that Dave's match was next…strangely her heart sped up when she heard them announce it…but she would never admit that to _him_.

Knowing that his match was next, Dave made a last ditch effort to tear her from the television. "So," He stood and stretched, fighting for a good excuse as he made his way toward the television intent on shutting it off. "I thought we could head out and look through some shops and see if we can find anything that we might need for the baby."

He caught the tiny variance in her expression that let him know that she saw right through his attempted excuse.

She motioned gently with her hand for him to move out of the way as she lifted the remote in order to raise the volume. "Are you afraid for me to see your match?"

Damn her intuition!

He frowned and denied it. "No." the slightest air of irritation for her knowing bubbled up within him and he stood in the spot contemplating whether he should step forth and turn the set off anyhow.

Brows lifted and with a twinkle in her green eyes, she gently waved him away. "Could you please move."

"You would actually prefer to sit around here all morning and watch a wrestling match instead of shopping?" He asked, unable to disguise his annoyance. This brought forth curious glances from both of his daughters.

"You were right when you told me the other night that I had bought everything we needed for the baby." Nancy informed him, coolly. "Barren and I inventoried it all and there's nothing missing…now could you please move…just a foot or two that direction." She held her laughter when she saw him huff ever so slightly as he stepped out of the way.

He watched his wife adjust to accommodate her belly and then she fast forwarded through the commercials until the matches resumed.

"Isn't he just scary?" Audrey asked as her father began his entrance and the pyrotechnics boomed and flashed.

"Not really." Nancy told her with a sniff. But that was a lie and she knew it. There was definitely something magnificently terrifying about Dave Batista. Not in the way that she was fearful of him…because she wasn't, not anymore anyhow. It was simply in the way that he cast such a massive presence wherever he went, whatever he wore, however he spoke. No matter what he happened to be doing, people listened, people watched, people took note of him. Even now with a half pout on his face across the room, he was still imposing. He seemed to fill the room and she knew even as her empty brain began scrambling for a time and place when she'd seen that blessedly adorable look, that he could be as gentlemanly as he was beastly. Even then she knew that he could tenderly explain the jumble of clouded memories to a forgetful wife or back the entire world into a corner with only a look.

He was in the ring for mere seconds the match quickly beginning when a woman, a very beautiful woman took her place at the top of the ramp with a microphone.

"Who's that?" Nancy asked, pretending that the flash of irritation she felt wasn't jealousy.

"She's the leather bag with boobs." Audrey announced earnestly.

Nancy's head whipped around in shock. "What?"

Audrey nodded perfunctorily. "That's what Daddy says she looks like without make-up on."

Nancy arched a brow and turned toward Dave Batista who was staring down at his feet, shaking his head. Lifting his gaze, feeling the heat of embarrassment as a flush crept up to his face, he knew that a slight explanation was in order. "Well I didn't say it to _her_…I mean, she wasn't supposed to hear it…I was telling Randy…and she must've…" He sighed and frowned, silently reminding himself to keep a tight reign on his tongue whenever Audrey was within a mile.

The slightest grin swept across Nancy's features and she shook her head turning back to the screen where she could plainly hear the interaction between the wrestlers. The woman certainly didn't look like a leather bag with boobs at the moment…she looked oddly, like a very saucy siren…a woman scorned. The match, of course, ended with Dave being submitted and Nancy placed the remote softly on the table in front of her.

_'Here it goes' _Dave thought to himself. _'She knows.'_ This would be the time when she would retreat to the bedroom until she could find the right way to ask him if he had been sleeping with Candace before their marriage. It would surely be a setback in what he had begun to think of as the path back to normalcy.

Damn her inquisitive nature!

She stood and then after a moment of deafening silence announced. "I'm pretty disappointed."

Dave Batista was prepared to bury his head in the sand…she would surely blame him for whatever it was she was disappointed by, because she couldn't remember him so he was as easy a target as any for an arrow of blame. He took a deep breath preparing for the verbal dart.

"I was hoping for at least some sort of huge slamming move, or a big kick to the head or something." Nancy said with one hand planted on her hip and the other in a gesture of exasperation. "Audrey had me all worked up thinking I was gonna see you do that 'Bomb thing' she says you do and all that was, was…well…I don't know about you, but if I paid good money to go see a show and expected my favorite wrestler to have a match…" She continued on as her face screwed into a mask of contemptuous puzzlement. "…and all I got was _her_ and two minutes of pushing and shoving…I'd be pretty darned…" Nancy wasn't fully able to insert an adjective fitting of her disappointment.

Dave had scarcely been able to breathe and finally all of the air that had been lodged in his lungs came out in a slow, silent 'whoosh'. If she had noticed the nervousness on camera, and he suspected she had, she certainly wasn't letting on. But he was no fool. He wasn't about to probe deeper and explain the match or Candace's involvement in the storyline. And yet the slight boost to his ego at the knowledge that she had been watching, anticipating a power move from him was just as swiftly replaced by the need to prove that he was a better wrestler than had been showcased on the screen just seconds ago. "I have other tapes of my matches." He kept the insistent tone out of his voice as he followed behind her into the kitchen where she had gone. "I could always get those out if you wanna see them."

She turned and smiled, a soft laugh escaping her lips as her tongue darted out to rewet them. "I said I was disappointed not faithless…I know you're a great wrestler…or else why would you have been so irritated when that other wrestler put you in that 'Full Nelson' when you weren't expecting it?" Her expression flickered between soft and questioning to bewilderment. "I wish I knew how I know that was a 'Full Nelson'…Anyway you would have to be a great wrestler to have made it look as if it had been planned, right?"

Dave was almost skull blocked as he listened to her intuition which he was certain would have been meant for his condemnation, but was used for his defense. But if she knew about the improvisation of the angle, if she had been able to tell that he was truly angry about the submission move, she likely would also know in that womanly way, about his nervousness over Candace…but she wasn't saying a word about it…and that alone was enough to put the fear of God Almighty within him "Well thanks for your faith in me." He meant it as he said it, but was cut short from any further comments by the ringing of the doorbell.

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"I was supposed to have given it back to the jeweler over a week ago." Samantha told her friend Avery, as she backed out of the driveway in her silver Jeep. "I just got busy and forgot about it."

A lie…she had been thinking about it every waking moment since she'd made the decision to break off her engagement to Randy Orton in order to pursue her true feelings for her ex-fiancé. She had been plagued by the thoughts of treachery every time she opened the top drawer of her desk and glanced at the lovely token of Randy's affection. And here and now, it sparkled like a firecracker on her delicate finger as her hand rested on the steering wheel while she drove toward the strip mall where the jewelry store was located. It probably wasn't proper for her to have donned the diamond moments ago, being as their now defunct relationship dictated that she not do so, but she couldn't help it. She had to feel its weight on her hand just once more.

"What about the invites?" Avery asked. "Did you cancel them in time for your parents to get their money back on those?"

A sigh of regret, "Nope, I didn't" almost three-hundred invitations had already been sent out to various family and friends and innumerable colleagues on both sides of the wedding party. Avery knew that and so Samantha suspected her question might have been a deliberate jab. And now sadly Samantha's mother had been forced to once more, commission the printer in an endeavor to create a classy cancellation notice on heavyweight cardstock, befitting the upstanding position that Samantha's family held in society. It was to read:

_**Dearest Family and Friends,**_

**_It is with much regret that we announce the nullification of the impending marriage of our daughter, Miss Samantha Elise Whitten to Mr. Randall Keith Orton on March 20th at 4:00 P.M. at St. Horatio Annex. All parties involved have split amicably and resumed lives where they desire only the best for one another and duly wish that their respective privacies be esteemed._**

**_The return of any and all gifts meant for the newly married pair should be expected before spring and the reimbursement of costs associated with travel and lodging for the guests of the bride should be referred to our accountant. His contact information is on the following page._**

_**Please accept our apologies in this unfortunate time as we wish only for the very best and brightest in the futures of these two individuals who have deemed it imperative that they seek life and career in their own individual directions.**_

_**God Bless You,**_

**_Doctor. & Mrs. Phillip Whitten_**.

The cancellation was to be mailed out within the next twenty-four hours, as demanded by proper decorum and would be the final nail in the coffin that was her relationship to Randy. It would truly be over the minute those cards hit the mail…of course despite her family's high station, her mother had practically spit nails of her own when Samantha had announced that she wouldn't be marrying Randy. Her mother's anger and mortification were due mostly in part to the horror of explaining to her fellow socialites that her well-cultured, well-read, well-bred daughter was backing out of a half-million dollar wedding…one that Samantha herself had insisted on, despite her father's resistance to her marrying an athlete other than a professional golfer.

All of her mother's lies and attempts at damage control in the very beginning of Samantha's relationship were now…all for naught. Mrs. Whitten had barely gotten her very fickle group of lady friends to accept the fact that Samantha was marrying below her station, into…of all things…a family of professional wrestlers. And now, she was left to the task of playing nursemaid to the battered façade of her daughter's perfect little debutante image. Samantha was fairly positive that her mother would rather endure having her toenails plucked out with pliers than be left to explain to the junior-league and ladies auxiliary how her precious little girl had shimmied out of the society wedding of the year and fallen right back into the arms of a man that her mother hated worse then 200 thread-count cotton sheets.

But it couldn't be helped…Samantha had to know for certain…she just had to know if there was anything left there in her heart for Daniel. There was no way she could have married Randy when there had been no closure, no finality in her relationship with Dan. It wouldn't have been fair to Randy…and it wouldn't have been fair to her. Watching her mother and father in a loveless relationship was torture. Wealth and power and privilege were nothing when you didn't have love driving them in the right direction. And as strongly as she felt about Randy…and despite the fact that she had told him she was in love with him…she still couldn't follow through until she knew for sure that there was nothing left for her in Daniel's heart.

"You should be getting the 'Memo' in a few days." She told Avery, referring to the cancellation notice. "Mom and Dad are having everything returned, cancelled…eighty-sixed…don't be surprised if my trust fund ends up chapter thirteen'd before it's all over."

"Your mother must be livid." Avery observed. "What about your Dad."

Samantha knew her father was just shy of elated over the split, though he would never voice it. His dislike for Randy had more to do with Randy's choice of career than Randy himself.

"He'll get over it quicker than she will, I'm sure." Samantha knew that the wedding hadn't even made a dent in his checkbook and so she felt a little less culpable.

Ending the conversation, she pulled into the drive-up of Starbucks, intent on drowning her sorrows in a double tall caramel macchiato, on her way to return the engagement ring to Randy's jeweler.

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His mouth had gone dry the moment his addled brain demanded that he recall the words he and Barren had practiced just moments ago in the car, leaving Randy to try to swallow a lump that felt more like a hairball than anything.

Dave slouched in the leather chair behind his desk, a humorless smile on his angular face as he contemplated the four word suggestion blurted out at him by his long time friend.

"You need a vacation." Was what Randy had said.

"I don't need a vacation…" Dave insisted. _'I need for my wife to stop taunting me with her presence and her perfume and to remember me before I die in celibacy!'_

He spoke the last part in his mind.

Randy cleared his throat and rounded the desk. "Sure you do…and I can tell you from experience that no one else on the roster is particularly fond of you when you're in a bad mood." Rewarded with a fierce scowl that homed in on his point, Randy continued. "Besides in about two-weeks, you're not going to get a true vacation for another eighteen years."

Dave huffed at Randy's observation as he stared at the scuff mark that his friend's shoe was leaving on the top of his desk, where he had propped his feet.

"And wouldn't it help tip the scales for you if you somehow managed to sweep your wife off of her feet again…or at least proved to her that you're not the ogre she thinks you are?"

"Did she say that?" Dave asked in perturbed surprise.

"No, she didn't." Randy smiled. "What I meant was…"

"It's a nice idea, but it's not going to happen." Dave explained, as he gestured toward his day planner. "I have a pay-per-view and Angie won't be back from Hawaii for another week…so I have the girls until then—"

"I know." Randy blurted. "I have a plan for all that…" Excitedly he began to launch into his rehearsed itinerary, suddenly able to voice it with all of the skill he put into his promos. "Obviously I have nothing on the books for another couple of months, so I can house sit for you, and with Barren here we can handle Vanessa and Audrey…while you take Nancy to L.A. with you for the pay-per-view." Though satisfied with himself, he watched for any sign of disgust on the face of his friend before continuing. "We know where the school is and I for one am strong enough to withstand Audrey's begging. She won't miss a day, I swear it."

"Nancy's doctor won't allow her to travel." Dave inserted, shooting down Randy's suggestion.

"Weeelll, technically he wouldn't be that put out about it." Randy announced hesitantly.

Dave's face hardened. "You talked to her doctor?" his lips were a thin line.

"No, but…" Randy was scrambling for the answer. "Barren went with her last week to the appointment and since Nancy's specialist is from L.A. and travels here for her appointments, wouldn't it be all the better if she were there instead of here if something were to go wrong?"

"And how in the bloody hell do you know where he's from?" Dave asked wondering how far his pal had gone to retrieve information in order to orchestrate a vacation for him.

"I just made an unofficial inquiry…just surface questions, I swear." Randy held two fingers up in scouts honor. "The flight is only two and a half hours non-stop, no switching planes, no lay-over…she'll be fine." He pulled the ticket-less itinerary from his back pocket, having already paid the couple's fare and slid it forward in the desk.

"What the hell are you getting out of this?" Dave grumbled, spearing Randy with a scowl.

"Oh come on." Randy frowned, leaning back and propping his feet on the desk again. "As if you think I have ulterior motives."

"Nope, it's a no-go." Dave remained firm, crossing his muscular arms over his chest for emphasis. His face was a mask of stony contempt, his resolute stoicism etched there as if from the birth of time. And then after he saw Randy's lips tighten in anger and frustration, he reached forth, "And get your goddamned feet off my desk!" He exploded, shoving Randy's size twelve off of the edge of the rustic desktop.

Randy stood up, suddenly, a hard edge to his expression. "You're the most bullheaded sonuva bitch I ever laid eyes on!"

Dave couldn't help but laugh as a sardonic smile drifted to his lips, teasing and tugging them, tempting him to laugh. "Trying to make up for your mistake, huh, Randy?"

"Hell no." Randy bit out. "I already paid for that one…it was an accident and we all know it!" He took a step back making certain he was out of arm's reach before continuing. "What I'm trying to do is get you to fight for your marriage before your damned stubborn streak lands you in the single's ad of the local paper!" Before Dave could speak, Randy cut him short. "You keep hammering her to remember the past, to be the same woman as she was before and you won't even try to show her how much she means to you the way she is…just you. Not the whole family…your girls, even though that's important…but she needs to know what she means…to you. Take her to L.A. and spoil her like you did when she had the ability to remember. She's worth it, isn't she?"

Dave sighed and viewed Randy through a sideways glance, but he said nothing, instead preferring to kick around Randy's words in his jumbled brain.

"It's only two days, but it could make all the difference in the world." Randy told him. "And the added bonus is that she'll get to be in an arena full of people that she knew before…it could bring her full circle and she could come home with her memory…and the both of you could come home with your marriage intact."

"That could set her up for a bunch of difficult questions." Dave insisted.

"True, but she's a crafty gal…she'll be fine."

"She could always refuse to go with me." Again Dave tossed up an excuse.

"And you are a crafty fellow." He supplied. "You could _make_ her go…we could send Barren and Nancy out for coffee and pack her bags for her while she's gone and then you could always tell her that you're taking her to look at another house you wanna buy…something like that."

"Oh, well that's indispensable marital advice; Gain your wife's affections by underhanded means." He shook his head, silently ridiculing the idea. "That's bound to get her trust…especially when we get to the airport in L.A. and I have to tell her what a damn liar I am…there's some 'fine print' for her!"

"Okay, so maybe that's not the way to do it, but…" Randy sighed frowning. "Damn man…if it were me…I-I mean, if she was my wife…if it were my marriage, I'd fight for it, 'fine print' and all."

Judging by the look on Randy Orton's face, Dave knew that he had the very best of intentions, no matter that he'd not truly worded his plea properly. Dave also knew that his young friend was right. Dave would have spent a fortune if it meant that there was even a chance of things returning to normal…if there was an opportunity that she would be normal again. It couldn't hurt could it? Two days in his company under other circumstances might be the equivalent of a week in hell, and he owed it to her…to himself to make every effort to show her that he wasn't giving up.

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"Not having second thoughts, are we?" The heavily accented Irish voice floated over Samantha's shoulder tickling her ear and she turned to face the jeweler who stood behind the counter in a proud grey suit.

"Pardon me?" Samantha asked.

"The ring." He stated, casually pointing to her finger. "It's one of the finest I ever had in my case."

"Oh." She laughed nervously. She was slightly tempted to think that he'd been referring to her relationship and not the ring. "No, I-I was just thinking about something." She slid the ring off of her delicate finger.

"Randy was enthralled by that diamond." The jeweler said wistfully. "Three carat marquise…flawless…I can see why he chose it for you."

Flattered by the man's silky-tongued speech, Samantha blushed. "You remember him choosing it?"

"Who wouldn't?" The jeweler shrugged. "A man like me sells a diamond like this once in a lifetime." He saw guilt or perhaps regret ripple across her finely schooled features. Good. She should feel guilty. "Besides, he's been calling about its return for more than a week now."

"He has?" Samantha asked suddenly struck timid by the revelation. Knowing she shouldn't ask didn't stop her. "Did he…I mean, how was he? H-how did he sound?"

A cryptic tilt of his head and the jeweler weighed his words carefully. "Well as fine a gentleman as Mr. Orton is, let's just say it's probably best that the two of you part ways now rather than later."

"Why is that?" Samantha ventured.

"I shouldn't have speculated." He said quickly, and held his hand out for the ring. "I just know that he'll be happy to have this back."

Taking a deep breath, Samantha dropped the ring into the man's hand and smiled, nodding. "Well, if there's nothing else, I'll just be going."

"Take care now." Evan said to Samantha's retreating back and he lifted the polishing cloth, shining the fabulous thirteen-thousand dollar ring as he watched Randy's former fiancé drive away in her jeep completely oblivious that his warm and eager tongue had been on her flesh little more than two days prior.


	21. Chapter 20

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 20

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"If you can learn from hard knocks, you can also learn from soft touches."

-_Carolyn Kenmore, Mannequin: My Life as a Model_

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The lights in the loft popped on and Evan knew that Lynn Orton had awakened and would most probably be stepping into her shower right about now. Smoke purled from his lips and his passenger coughed dragging his attention from his perusal of her balcony. Reserving a bit of smoke in his mouth he turned to face his passenger and exhaled completely, gifting Cullen with a true reason to hack. An icy glare was Evan's reward, and he chuckled turning back to the balcony where he watched from below in the driver's seat of the Buick Regal. And…again, there was her silhouette as it passed the sheers showing her journey from one room to the next. There was something in her hand that Evan imagined might be a cup of hot stout coffee or a very small potted plant for which she intended to water.

Cullen coughed once again…more as a gesture of displeasure than discomfort.

"Get used to the smoke…we all smoke." Evan suggested to his passenger, and then after a few silent moments in the cold car, he tamped out the stogie and opened the driver door, sliding out easily and adjusting his jacket. He'd hoped that tapping Samantha's phone would have led him directly to Randy Orton and possibly Barren as a by-blow, but the girl had broken off her engagement to the wrestler and so direct confrontation wasn't likely to happen. Evidently it had been a rocky situation and Samantha had decided it was best not to call him, because she hadn't…she had called everyone _but_ Randy Orton.

Evan had been party to every single phone call since the moment he'd left Samantha's house the night he'd been tempted to take liberties with her in her sleep. The pampered debutante had more contacts in her cell phone, than all of Sullivan's cronies, and she gossiped with each and every one. A master of balance, she had every friend on her list believing that she or he was her best pal…all the while weaving a web of gossip and tale bearing that made Evan wonder how she hadn't been found out as of yet. Her social flaw of deceit made the thought of inflicting punishment on her all the more appealing.

Listening in to those calls was the only way he'd known that Sam was headed to the jewelry store to return the immaculate engagement ring. She'd been hounded by her mother in several phone calls and had reassured the rigid, panicked socialite that she would do what was proper and get the ring back as soon as possible. Evan had half been tempted to think that Samantha was a cold, dead lead…until the ring. He'd been following her and listening into her cell calls when he'd been tipped off to her plan to return the ring yesterday morning and had hotfooted it to the store with the intention of somehow getting his hand on it. If nothing else, he was liable to stumble onto a rash of paperwork in Randy's name that might help him track the elusive troublemaker down.

One sleeping pill in the jeweler's steaming coffee cup was all it had taken to get him out of the way long enough for him to pose as the jeweler and nab the ring and the paperwork, which had led him to Lynn. The jeweler would wake up none the wiser, albeit a few hours later…and never having known how lucky he was that Evan hadn't had time to hide a body and had therefore decided against killing him.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Evan found himself already on the stoop, two knuckles on the door, rapping. He could have sounded the bell, but he didn't, feeling it more personal to knock, less intimidating. A rush of warm air swept her gilt tresses back as she whipped the door open.

An arch of her brow…barely noticeable, before she spoke. "Yes?"

Lynn's voice wasn't at all what he'd expected. He'd thought it would be soft and high like Samantha's perhaps. Instead it was deep, liquid and smooth, but with a distinct air of succinctness. He was right on the money about where Annette Orton's children had gotten their good looks. Lynn was as beautiful a woman as any he'd ever seen, and right then and there he felt his loin jerk in response.

Not conventional beauty, mind you. Not what he had thought she would look like after having found Randy's picture on the WWE bio. She had none of his dark mysterious good looks and none of his smooth million dollar style. Lynn Orton was an all out rugged, tight lipped curvaceous beauty. Golden hair, straight as a wooden bench in an Irish Pub, very fair skin and deep set flashing hazel eyes. The only similarity between her and her brother, was the very pronounced cleft in her chin. He could imagine her on the back of a palomino in dirty boots and a tattered cowboy hat with half of the ranch hands drooling behind her back.

"You gonna stand there all day, or was there something you needed?" She snapped, softly…an insult only to someone who was waiting for it…and Evan was waiting for it.

"You must certainly be Lynn."

She huffed a laugh and crossed her arms over her chest, crooking her lip. "And you must be selling something."

Evan smiled, he wanted to slap the budding sneer off of her face. "Not selling anything." He reassured her. "I'm just looking for Randy Orton."

Her disgust was mirrored in a shake of her head and a puff of air as it passed over her lips in a hiss. "Yeah, you and everyone else on the planet!" She placed one hand on her rounded hip, dragging Evan's attention to her slender waist line. Not obese, just nicely curvy in the hips…Evan was beginning to sweat.

"What has he done this time?" Lynn asked incredulously. "Did he cheat you out of some money? Sleep with your wife? Run off for the night with your baby sister?" She rambled on, and then clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she announced. "Since you're looking…you go ahead and find him mister and then maybe you can convince him to get his act straight."

Evan tried to stop her tirade to explain himself, but her eyes widened as if she was suddenly stricken with recognition. "Wait a minute." She said with a suspicious flare of her nostril. "You're a bookie, aren't you? You came to collect on a bet!"

Evan watched as Lynn squared her shoulders and he was tempted to believe that she might have the urge to fist fight. He took one step backward as the woman scowled menacingly and planted both hands on her hips, her entire threatening stance filling the doorway. "Lemme tell you something! Whatever that irresponsible, self-righteous, self serving, self indulgent little brat owes you, can be collected from him and him alone! I don't incur his debts and I don't pay his damn debts!" Her finger came up like a javelin, leveled toward Evan's chest. "So you can get your ass off my porch before I do something I regret!"

Evan held up his hands in surrender. "Hold on lady! My God! I'm not a bookie, I'm a jeweler and I have to speak with your brother regarding a ring that was returned to me."

Lynn tilted her head to the side, unsure as to whether she believed the man in front of her. "Are you referring to the engagement ring that he gave to his ex-fiancé?" She witnessed his nod and stiff cough. "Well if you're his jeweler, then you have his contact information already and you don't need me." Her suspicious nature began to rear its head.

"Well I suppose if you're not concerned with it, then I'll just hold onto it until he comes for it." Evan lifted the ring box from the inner pocket of his jacket, opening it to reveal the ring. "But with the refund he was asking for I really have to speak with him, and soon."

The diamond winked back at Lynn as her gaze lowered to behold it. "Why don't you leave your number."

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"Well, I'm not going." Nancy announced calmly and with distinct finality as she reticently clasped her hands together over the top of her rounded stomach. At least she thought there _should_ have been finality in her statement, but a part of her was consigned to think that her articulately worded refusal would not mean the end of the matter.

"Sure you are." Dave Batista told his wife as he gently tossed the plane ticket confirmation onto the dresser of their master bedroom and began to rummage through his insufferably well organized closet for his suitcase.

She stood firm, one brow arching incredulously, yet she remained calm and repeated. "No, I'm not."

His broad back had been hunched over the task of tugging the suitcase out of the custom niche to which it had been retired after his last trip, but he slowly stood and turned to regard her as if she were a petulant chit. "Oh, really? Why is that?"

Something about his air of superiority galled her and she frowned. "Well, namely…because I'm eight months pregnant…give or take a week…" She began and felt a flush of humiliation when he appeared silently amused. Feeling the need to get the upper hand in the parry, she announced. "And also because I don't want to."

His suddenly rigid expression was a measure of satisfaction, but it was the loud scraping sound of the suitcase being extracted from the closet in his bumbling attempt to appear controlled that had her ready to laugh out loud. "Besides, I don't feel like meeting a bunch of people that I can't even remember and fumbling through questions that I can't answer."

One hand on the top of the suitcase and the other raised to toy thoughtfully with the line of whiskers on his chin, Dave stared off into space for a moment. "Would you like my help packing?"

Somehow, she doubted that his offer was as genuine as it was a simple clever way of dismissing her rebuttal altogether. "I'm not going…" She shook her head, determined that he was either deaf or daft. "Someone has to make sure that Audrey goes to school…you know she'll trick Randy and Barren both."

"Great excuses, Nancy…all of them." He told her determining not to budge in his pursuit of time alone with her. "But they're hardly going to serve as a means of escape…Your plane ticket is paid for so you're going." Dave Batista had been prepared for slight resistance on his wife's part, but with regard to willful defiance…he had not. Watching her expression change from barely checked insubordination to disbelieving shock, told him that they were about to cross swords in battle.

Nancy huffed and shook her head. "My doctor won't let me go." She insisted, hitching both hands on her hips facing him squarely.

"He seems to think you'll be fine." Dave told her dismissively, pulling the doctor's letter of consent for the airline from his pocket, tossing it onto the dresser. "And coincidentally his main office is in L.A., so if anything happens there's not a better place for us to be…You're going." A half smile lifted his upper lip as his authoritarian expression dared her to refuse.

Her eyes narrowed and she glowered, releasing a pent up breath. She had thought this might be difficult, but she hadn't banked on him being so headstrong and immobile. Facing him fully she composed her features and stated. "Maybe you've taken one too many bumps in the ring and it's robbed you of your hearing." She wanted to stomp one foot in utter frustration when he huffed a laugh, but she left her foot planted. "I already told you I wasn't going and so _I'm_ _not_ _going_…" She enunciated her words as if he was a thickheaded lout, and he smiled and nodded again indicating that he heard but didn't care. The nonchalant disregard was infuriating and so in a desperate attempt to reestablish her independence she spouted out the very first rebellious words that came to mind. "And you can't make me!"

Hells Bells! He was beyond gritting his teeth in anger as a thousand shades of red exploded in his brain! Never in his life had he been so utterly exasperated with someone and so devastatingly haunted by that self same someone! He squared his shoulders for the conflict as his mind scrambled in a thousand desperate directions for the logical response of which her obstinacy had robbed him.

"No?" he challenged darkly, heart hammering, eyes flashing, trying with little success to tamp down the fury that bubbled up in his massive chest. And suddenly he was stricken with the sweet temptation to drag her bodily from the premises. Were she not pregnant with his child, he would throw her over his shoulder and place her on the plane himself. But since she _was_ pregnant he should just bind and gag her, carry her on the plane with a note from the doctor pinned to her chest and stating that she was insane and should remain restrained until the flight landed. Blinded by his anger, he had settled upon just that sort of solution and with his lips tightly clamped in resentment took a step forward toward her. That was when logical thought processes took over his testosterone saturated senses. He stopped short of laying hands on her, suppressing the growl in his throat before it gave way to a roar of wrath.

She had sensed the dangerous shift in his persona and with bated breath, she stepped backward slowly as he advanced until her hip made contact with the footboard of the bed allowing her no further retreat. "I already told you, no." her wide-eyed response was still resistant, but softer…noticeably lacking the earlier trace of bravery. No matter the animalistic look of incense on his face, Nancy knew that he wasn't about to hurt her. She wasn't sure how she knew…she just knew. She witnessed him as he slowly cloaked himself in calm, swallowing his frustration, he sighed. And she watched him rub one palm over his jaw as if to wipe away the dark expression.

Did he have to be so handsome even when he was irritated and irritating? His smoky blue oxford, tucked neatly into his black dress slacks made him appear professional and serene despite the fact he'd just had his royal feathers ruffled only seconds ago. The tie around his neck that had been neglected, hung there as if it would be his last minute concern and the sight of it made her trembling hands itch to tie it for him. Nancy felt her pulse quicken when she saw him shift his weight from one foot to the other, placing one hand in his pocket and the other to his forehead in thought. He was only a foot or two away from her but the sensuous heat of his presence burned her just the same…he wasn't even trying to send her body into a state of liquid quivering…but he was, just by being close.

Never in his marriage to Nancy had he been forced to work so hard for her trust. Never had he been victim to her razor sharp tongue or her damnable spicy sarcasm…it was borderline frustrating and captivating all in the same. His feral nature demanded that he exert himself for the sake of getting his way and yet the sensible side of him gently reminded him that she was defensive because she had reason to be, resistant because she didn't know better…because she couldn't remember. And then of course there was that inner beast, goading him, telling him that she didn't want to be alone with him because she was afraid of what might happen when all of her flimsy excuses fizzled away. Hell, even he couldn't guarantee that nothing would happen; that he could reign himself in if he were blinded by his need for her. Could he stop himself again as he had once before in the kitchen when she'd been perched on that island and he'd stood there just micrometers from taking what he wanted? He didn't think he _could_ stop…if he were faced with the opportunity to kiss her or touch her or to make love to her.

He sighed again, ready to give up when his heart, aching for her to remember collided with his ego, demanding that she remember, convinced him of a better way. She _would_ go…and he wouldn't even have to force her. His countenance lifted, his gaze lodging on the smooth skin of her face, the fullness of her lips, shiny from some sort of gloss she had taken to wearing. He cleared his throat of the lump when the sight of the reddened scar on her forehead reminded him of his need to know she would be safe and then he spoke.

"You're right. I can't force you to go with me." He submitted, feeling the quick prick to his ego when he saw her breasts rise and fall with a breath of relief. _'You can too make her go! You're bigger than she is!'_ The inner beast demanded, growling in dissatisfaction. Though slightly tempted, Dave ignored it. "And so you can stay here."

"Thank you." She said buoyed by his concession.

He eyeballed her for another moment, in no way content to let her think she had won, but smart enough to know he had to do just that. "You're welcome…" He turned as if to let her go about her way and then before she had a chance to slip past him, his arm snaked out, fingers gently curling around the crook of her elbow. In true flippant form he spoke. "I just wanted to tell you to enjoy your time here…with, um…Audrey and Vanessa…" He released her elbow and smiled, eyes sparkling with mischief he could not have hidden, not even for all of King Midas' Gold.

Nancy nodded, confused as she watched him speak, flustered by his touch and bereft when he released her.

Dave continued, ticking off the names on his fingers as he stared directly at her with all of the innocence his devious mind would allow. "And, um, Max…and of course Randy, we can't forget Randy…" He watched her face grow pale and her lips tighten in caged contempt. "Oh, and we both know, that where Randy goes…Barren goes, so it looks like she'll be here as well." Now the ever appealing rise and fall of her chest was due to intermittent breaths of frustration rather than relief and his eyes stayed locked on the very attractive swell of her chest for a moment before he finally pierced her with a gaze. "I never did have a chance to check and see if there were clean sheets on the pull out bed in the nursery…you should probably get on that." He turned away to prevent her from seeing the smile he could not disguise and pretended to dig absently through his closet.

Nancy remained calm, determined not to let him get the better of her. And as desirable as the thought of tossing his suit coat in the floor and jumping up and down on it was, she dashed the thought in favor of propriety and spoke. "They were only supposed to be here in the event that I went with you, and since I'm not going I won't need them." Satisfied with her response she prepared to turn and go.

"Well, be that as it may, they're staying whether you choose to go or not." He was firm, cocky.

Nancy wanted to bellow her refusal, but knew that he was baiting her and she would do best if she appeared poised and unaffected. "I don't need a babysitter."

A rumble of amusement deep in his throat caused her to blanch. "That's debatable."

"I am quite capable of taking care of myself!" She snapped, both hands on her hips prepared to engage him again, having completely tossed out the idea of being polite.

"I don't doubt that." He said with an exaggerated shrug of his colossal shoulders. "But I feel much more comfortable knowing they'll be here."

"It's a waste of time for them to stay here." Nancy reasoned. "Besides this time isn't any different than any of the other few times you've left me in the past few weeks."

"I disagree." Dave told her and with all of the eloquence of a scholar, he began to explain. "See, this time _wouldn't_ have been any different, but because you were so quick to remind me how truly far along you are…I can see your need for responsible _adult_ company while I'm gone." He reached out splaying a large warm hand over the tummy that housed his son. "Even though you were wrong on the time frame…you're due in seventeen days, if he cooperates."

She could only swallow and listen, being as the closeness of his large frame and the pleasant heat and gentle pressure of his hand, stole the biting remark right from between her lips. The intimacy of his exact knowledge of when she was due told her that it was protectiveness rather than possessiveness that was driving him to behave the way he was.

Scarcely able to remember what it was that he'd been saying, he swallowed and in a low voice told her. "Of course, if he's as stubborn as his mother he may stay in there forever."

She had the slightest inkling that he was referring to her fear of venturing out, rather than anything else, but she didn't confront him on it. "I can always call them if something happens." She offered up, softly as his gaze pinned hers.

"They're on their way here, luggage in tow so it's a mute point." He informed her. "So…now really all that's left is for you to choose whose company you prefer."

The ultimatum vibrated softly from his lips and hung there before her like a lead weight. And yet it didn't seem cumbersome, the thought of choosing between the two. It was her fear…the suffocating fear of being forced to recall something she was certain she should have never forgotten, that had her wanting to hide from him. And then there was the desire, hot and heady and unavoidable…and even _that_ was intertwined with fear, because she had no clue how to control it. And what she really needed right now, more than anything, was some sense of control…elusive and daunting…she could not attain it. Damn him for orchestrating things so that her own big ole' mouth had pigeonholed her into the fate of being supervised while he was gone! One last dart of rebellion from her bow. "Don't you mean the lesser of the two evils?"

The smile he'd been fighting to suppress split his face in two and he gave way to a soft laugh. Well, if he had to be referred to as a necessary evil, then he could handle it. Something he could not handle, however, was the involuntary tingle on the back of his neck when he saw her jut her chin out, plant her hands on her hips and gift him with a very calculating, very appealing smile of her own. He'd bet his right arm that she was planning something…and if he was half smart, he'd be on his toes.

"Fine." She said coolly. "You won the battle. I hope it was as satisfying as you thought it would be."

He reached out grazing a knuckle across her chin, reminded of another time not so long ago when she'd been just as determined and defiant. Foolishly she'd tried to keep the remote control away from him. It was rightfully his by some unwritten law, he was sure…and he'd had to chase her down in an attempt to retrieve it while she cited that her right to watch a home design show superseded his right to a televised football game, being that she was home more often than he. He remembered how he'd missed the football game…and she'd missed her design show, because retrieving it by pinning her against the wall in the hallway beside his office had turned into a wild exploration of each other's bodies.

The raw memory made it all the more difficult to leash his feelings and restrain his desire, but he did so, reluctantly and let his hand fall down to his side. And just to enforce the measure of his victory, he retorted softly. "I had the battle won before I walked in here."

Her eyes glittered like frosted jade beads, and she blinked twice, unable to form a suitable rejoinder. Nancy took a deep breath, ignoring the blush that crept up her décolletage to meet her face and then she snorted her disgust and spun on her heel, leaving her husband to his packing and his laughter.

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"I don't see why you have such an interest in seeing me get one over on him." Chris Masters reached one powerful arm down, sweeping Candace's leg up and hooking it over his own as he lay facing her. "If I didn't know better I'd think you had a thing for him."

"Phhft." Candace huffed and wrestled her toned leg away from him. "I don't have a _thing_ for Dave Batista…I just have an intense desire to see him get what's coming to him for all of the promises he made my friend…promises he broke." She knew it was a lie, and certainly her anger for him was mostly due to his rejection of _her_ than anything else. Candace could care less about the fact that he had dumped her friend Christy Hemme for the woman who was currently his wife. Christy was just a convenient excuse. The fact that he was the one man on the roster, except for Sean Michaels that wouldn't give in to her advances was what had her ready to rip his deep brown eyes out.

Chris laughed and rolled over, pinning her beneath his own massive frame. "So that's why you offered to help me…why you offered to take my case before the McMahon's?" He was well aware of the fondness that Triple H a.k.a. Paul Lévesque had for the buxom Diva.

"No." She said glaring hard at him as he loomed above her. "I took your case before the McMahons because you're a good wrestler…I would have done it even if I didn't have anything to gain from it."

"I could almost believe that…if I didn't know you." His voice was without emotion and his eyes deep and reflecting, until he saw her upper lip tremble seductively…and then they both burst into raucous laughter.

"I can't wait to see his face." Candace announced pushing Chris Masters off of her and then rolling to sit astride his powerful body.

"Oh, me neither."

She let the covers fall down from her naked back and she shook out the curtain of black curls, letting them fall in a sheet of ebony glass down her back. "I think this is a very profitable partnership." She leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the mouth. "Let's just hope it doesn't blow up in our faces."


	22. Chapter 21

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 21

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"You can forget a lot of things, but you cannot forget a woman's name and claim to love her."

**Real Live Preacher**, Weblog, October 20, 2003  
_Anonymous author of _

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Randy stood smiling nervously, watching his longtime friend walk a wide circle around his pregnant wife as he loaded the luggage for their trip into the back end of the vehicle. And though Randy could tell that Nancy was not presently angry, he suspected there had been a bit of friction between the two. He knew Dave well and he knew that sometimes his friend was overbearing and boorish when he wanted something, but he also knew Nancy fairly well and so he knew that her softer side and her tendency toward rationale helped balance Dave out.

He wrapped one arm around Barren's shoulder as he watched the pair…Dave doing all the lifting, while Nancy, a conspiratorial grin on her face as she sat in a dining chair, flipped absentmindedly through a fashion magazine with her feet propped up on one of the suitcases. Dave's suitcase to be exact. He believed that she had intended the gesture to get a rise out of Dave, but he couldn't be sure.

"You forgot one." Nancy reminded nicely as Dave walked back in from the garage.

Refusing to be baited, and knowing full well that she was aware there was no way he could have forgotten the gargantuan piece of luggage, Dave merely smiled and nodded waiting for her to nonchalantly and rather slowly slide her feet off of the Louis Vuitton rolling bag, at which point he leaned over making certain his face was within inches of hers, as he reached around behind her. It was very nearly an embrace as he did so and swiped the tickets from the table top, making certain that she had ample time eye to eye with him. The closeness had done the desired deed in robbing her of the utter ladylike insolence with which she had been displaying and if he didn't know better he was apt to think he'd seen a flicker of excitement in her eyes when he'd been so near.

"Thanks for reminding me." His comment was purposely soft and low meant only for her and his hand brushed her thigh as he backed away and lifted the heavy rolling bag, turning, bound once more for the garage.

"So, uh…" Randy began cutting the sensuous tension with a blade. "Do you guys have any plans for the first night in L.A.? The Pay-Per-View isn't until tomorrow night, so you guys have an entire day and a half to kill."

"If they don't kill each other first." Barren whispered in Randy's ear and was rewarded with a very ungentlemanly pinch to her backside.

"I'm not sure what's going to happen." Nancy informed Randy, smiling as she flipped through the magazine.

"Well whatever it is, I'm sure you'll have a great time."

Nancy was softened by the genuine concern that she saw in Randy's eyes and heard in his tone as he spoke. Though she would like to have been included or at the very least consulted about a trip out of town on her supposed behalf, she couldn't harbor the sort of anger that she had first thought she might. She was simply too genuinely interested in recompensing tit for tat with her wise-ass husband.

And now that everything was loaded, she turned to find a smug-faced Audrey, holding her sad sheet-cape in her hand and standing by the stair rail. She approached her stepdaughter to give her the proper goodbye and stooped down so she could be eye to eye with the petite girl. "Thanks for agreeing to help Randy and Barren while we're gone."

Audrey nodded slowly, reluctant to be left behind when she was certain that her father needed her help with Nancy. "You're going away to have my brother, aren't you?" She asked softly, the tiniest trace of a pout on her lips.

"No," Nancy said a look of genuine remorse on her face. "Is that why you think we're leaving?"

Audrey nodded.

"I wouldn't go away to have 'your brother'…at least not to another city if I can help it." Nancy explained, pulling the sheet from Audrey's hand and sweeping it over the little girl's shoulders to tie it for her. "Besides, he's not ready yet and he's the one who decides when he gets here, right?"

Audrey nodded appearing only slightly placated.

"Do me a favor while I'm gone." Nancy asked and then after Audrey's look of acknowledgement she continued in a soft voice. "No rabbit tricks for Randy and Barren, okay? And promise me you'll go to school without a fight…"

Audrey's face fell from curious obedience to disappointment. "Can't I just stay home until you get back?"

Nancy shook her head. "Nope." She lifted a brow as she spoke. "You have to go and besides if you don't obey the rules then Randy and Barren will think they can get away with misbehaving and you'll start a really horrid chain of events. You don't want that to happen do you?" She watched as Audrey shook her head earnestly. "I'm counting on you to keep them both in line, can you do that?" Nancy watched with satisfaction as Audrey flushed with pride.

"Oh, I can!" She announced and spun with a swirl of her sheet cape and she swept her arms around her stepmother's shoulders whispering into her ear softly. "And since you're going away with Daddy, maybe you can remember that you love him, the same way you remembered that you love me."

A half grin lifted Nancy's mouth as Audrey backed away and then she stood, smoothing the out of place hairs on the girl's head. "She has a soccer game this evening." She told Randy, thankful that she wouldn't be there to deal with the leering eyes of the coach. "I left all of the information on the table by the front door."

"I have everything in hand." Randy reassured her, gesturing with a sweep of his hand. "You don't have to worry about anything."

Barren gave her well-wishes also as Dave instructed Randy on some of the finer points of how the household ran, all the while being reassured that he had nothing to worry about. Donning his sunglasses, Dave turned toward Nancy just as the bells in the clock tower of the church down the street began to sound. "What do you know there's our cue…must be the sign of great things to come." His voice dripped with suave sarcasm even as he smiled and winked.

"Or maybe it's just an omen." Nancy joked wryly with a grin of her own and hugged Vanessa, stepping out into the garage. Her hand fell gently and covertly to the tiny flattened lump under her shirt which was the key, hoping that whatever it was she was hiding, she had a duty to protect it while she was gone...even if it meant taking the cursed key with her.

Randy drew in a nervous breath. Maybe Barren was right; perhaps the two were in the wings waiting to kill each other. The church bells weren't so much a sign as was the banter that the two had been displaying all morning; Dave with his clever references to a guillotine and a dungeon and Nancy with her insertions of sarcasm in reference to the speed with which he loaded the vehicle, or the lack thereof. None of the banter had seemed malicious and because he knew the both of them he could be persuaded to think that the whole thing had gone back to normal. Their marriage didn't seem overly in danger.

Randy had hope for the two of them even watching them load into the huge SUV, both with their own ornery, battle ready expressions. The results of the trip could be explosive or they could be restorative. Whatever the case, Randy was hoping that it would turn into something that mended the tattered garment of their relationship before it was too late and before Barren's premonition of the two parting ways came to fruition.

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Sliding two fresh cuttings into the already overloaded vase in the center of the dining table gave Annette Orton another reason to smile. Some of the largest out of season roses she'd ever seen had come from her husband's very own climate controlled greenhouse. She was sure she might be able to get a smile out of him when she showed him the fruits of his tedious pre-heart attack labor. She pulled one particularly smooth petal cutting and walked the distance from the dining room into her husband's den, where she saw him seated on the huge imposing brown tooled leather sofa, staring off into space.

Annette approached her husband from behind and carefully leaned over the back of the sofa wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The rose ended up inches from his nose as she smiled and pressed her face in the crook of his shoulder whispering in his ear.

"Tell me cowboy…What is the penalty nowadays for putting your feet on the coffee table?" Her playful reference to his less than kosher manners elicited a raspy laugh from him.

His hand came up to grasp the rose, while the other gripped the delicate arm over his chest and rubbed it gently with his thumb. "I think it ranks somewhere right up there with horse thievery, but I could be mistaken."

"Well whatever the penalty, I'm sure it's not stiff enough." She pressed a kiss to his temple and rounded the sofa seating herself beside him and facing him.

"This come from my stock?" Bob asked eyeing the plump bulb of the _'Don Juan'_ variety that he'd been experimenting with for nearly a year.

"Mmm, hmm." Annette nodded, smiling. "Awfully quiet in here…something on your mind?"

"I think next year, I'll try a hybrid." He responded holding the rose up to his nose inhaling the scent. "Hybrids seem more fragrant."

Annette spoke gently. "Don't change the subject, Bob." Her voice was soft, soothing. "You're thinking about Randy, aren't you?"

He sighed heavily, his eyes clouding with some unrevealed emotion. "Course I'm thinking about Randy? I think about him all the time…everyone on the planet thinks about Randy all the time…or worries about him."

"How so?" Annette knew the answer before she voiced the question.

"Is there something we missed, Annette?" Bob asked, turning his gaze on his wife. "Was there anything we didn't do where Randy was concerned?"

"Do you mean, did we fail as parents?" Her soft and appealing smile still remained.

"No…yes…hell, I don't know." A pained expression flittered across his face. "Sometimes I feel like maybe I should have come down on him harder when he was young." His hand lifted in worry. "I was hard on Lynn and look how she turned out."

"Randy's headstrong to a fault, but he's going to be fine." Annette assured Bob. "He has a great father…that's gotta count for something."

"I always told him to keep his mouth shut and his ears open." Bob confirmed. "Told him to play fewer jokes and do harder training…I gave him so much good advice, but I wasn't there for him when he was a kid." He admitted. "Not like I shoulda been."

"Sweetheart…" Annette began as she laid a comforting hand on her husband's thigh.

"Maybe he woulda stayed closer to his raisin' if I'd been there."

"Bob, Randy is the way he is, not because you raised him wrong or right." She told him firmly. "He is the way he is because he has your genetics…and you seem to forget that you behaved the very same way when you were his age. Don't you remember what you did the night we met in that dance hall in Slidell, Louisiana right after one of your matches?"

A gravelly laugh erupted from the old man's throat. "I sure as hell do. And as I recall, your mother was fit to be tied!"

"Well I imagine, especially since she was the one who had to clean up the mess after you and Roy had your fight." Annette reminded him.

"That sunuva bitch blindsided me with a punch…" Bob muttered. "How was I supposed to know he was your brother? Besides you had already agreed to dance with me and he was just bein' difficult…I had a black eye for a week."

"Serves you right for trying to cut in on a brother/sister dance, especially since he was headed off to Vietnam in a few days…besides he had a split lip too."

Bob snorted his laughter. "Served him right for tryin' to _prevent_ me from cuttin' in on the dance!"

"You were a pistol, Bob." Annette smiled and shook her head.

"I didn't hear you complaining six months later when I put that ring on your finger."

"And you won't hear me complaining now." She leaned forward and kissed her husband on the forehead leaving her lips there for a moment, closing her eyes and silently thanking God for having spared his life. "You are the finest man I know…and so if Randy is as much like you later on as he is now, then he'll be fine…and so will we."

"I know you're right." Bob said softly, holding onto his slender wife. "You're always right…that's why I keep you around."

"How very gratifying to know that…and here I was, thinking it was my cooking that you loved so much." She grinned and her brown eyes twinkled with merriment. "Let's not worry about Randy…we have to focus our energy on Lynn, now." Annette grinned wholly and rolled her eyes. "She's gone on a date and now I'm fairly sure she's hooked on the fellow."

"Oh, yeah?" Bob asked, pushing himself up from the sofa to stand in the French doorway observing Julio as he shoveled another row of snow from the sidewalk, lifting the shovel-full of snow and tossing it on top of Bob's precious boxwoods. Scowling at his old friend he opted out of the early morning battle that confronting him would create and asked Annette who Lynn was seeing.

"Oh, I don't know his name, I think she said he's a jeweler."

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"Are you angry with me?" He asked as the Navigator rumbled down the highway headed in the direction of the airport. Afraid to look in her direction, he waited for the response without turning his head.

"Why? For being a bully?" Nancy angled an amused glance toward her husband. "No." She finally said, taking note of his apparently confused expression.

"You're not?" His brow pleated, barely noticeable behind the lightly tinted Dolce's he wore.

"Should I be?" Nancy taunted.

He supposed her question might be rhetorical and he was hesitant to answer it for fear it might incite her sarcasm.

"I'm not angry…I'm actually flattered."

"Flattered…" The word came out as a flat statement, when what he wanted to say was _'yeah right!'_ Having suspected that she was skirting the issue prepared to assault his flank when he wasn't looking Dave was suddenly nervous and he cleared his throat and placed his free hand firmly on the gearshift as if he might be bracing himself for the worst.

Nancy nodded and in a lighthearted tone, she announced. "I _am_ flattered…you may not have gone about it the right way, but you _really_ must have wanted me to go along."

"I did." Dave responded lowering his guard only partially, eyeing her as though he was tempted to believe in her sincerity.

Nancy nodded. "I mean you really must have been eager…" She chanced a fleeting glance in his direction, noting the slight twitch in his jaw that she deemed was either a precursor to a smile or an attempt at stifling a remark. "…especially since you were forced to resort to such a degree of subterfuge, deceit, and trickery…and let's not forget kidnapping, extortion and blackmail. I am truly flattered that you would go to those extremes to get me to go somewhere with you." Her voice was calm and light as she ticked off the crimes on her delicate fingers, her wide and clear eyes and smooth smile betraying his assumption that she was angry.

Dave couldn't help but grin at the sudden naughty image of what those deeds could really be made to mean. "Actually, deceit and trickery fall into the same class of offenses…and extortion and blackmail can be very pleasant transgressions under the right circumstances."

"I said I was flattered, not given to promoting unsportsmanlike conduct." Came her dry response, backed with the slightest glitter of mischief in her olive eyes.

"Ouch…" He feigned a wounded demeanor, which was quickly replaced by a very soft jab of his own. "I was holding out the hope that somewhere around 10 o'clock tonight, you would be prepared to bury that hatchet you're holding over my head." His lips twitched with hidden amusement.

She rolled her jade eyes and cast him a withering look. "Do you _always_ have to insinuate sex?" Nancy would never have admitted that the mere implication had her scrambling for a mental picture.

The laugh that had been lodged in his throat finally made its way out of his mouth, soft and deep, a silken arrow of tickling heat piercing straight to her belly. His tongue darted out to rewet his lower lip. "Don't get me wrong, as much as the idea appeals…especially at this juncture…that's not what I was referring to." He glanced sidelong at her and noticed with silent satisfaction that she appeared to be flush with embarrassment at having misread his meaning. Good. It served her right!

After a few tense seconds she finally gathered the nerve to inquire, rather timidly. "What were you referring to?"

"Hmmm…well since you're so suspicious of my motives…" He announced in a voice that brooked little argument. "I think I'll make you wait and see." With that said he let the smile drift lazily across his lips as he reached out to turn on the stereo in a volume that indicated he had again won the battle and didn't care to debate further.


	23. Chapter 22

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 22

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Pick battles big enough to matter, small enough to win."

-_Jonathan Kozol_

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"This is probably one of the only times you'll hear me admit that I was wrong." Sullivan flicked a stray ash from his suit coat sleeve watching it disintegrate into the bitter cold wind as he stood in the parking lot of the hotel in downtown St. Louis, Missouri. "Maybe yer way of doing things wouldn't be so bad if ye weren't so damned slow about it."

Evan scowled, tugging in a draw of smoke and tossing the butt of his cigarette on the ground at Sullivan's feet. Microscopic embers fluttered from the burning tip upon impact. "Why the hell can't ye ever admit something was a stroke of genius even though it didn't come from yer own playbook?" He shook his head and thrust his icy hands into the pockets of his jeans, deeply disturbed by the memory of Lynn Orton, as it was hopelessly lodged in the forefront of his mind.

A mirthless laugh rumbled from Sullivan's throat. "I never said it wasn't a stroke of genius, in fact I give ye credit fer thinking past yer next lay."

Evan frowned once more, the action bisecting his handsome face and then he blew out a puff of air, watching the white cloud dance in the air in front of him. "What makes you think that Barren is even still out there? How do we even know that she hasn't already gotten her hands on the key _and_ the information Duncan hid?" He stabbed Sullivan with a look of unease.

"I know that she's out there, because my sources at the border tell me she hasn't crossed!" Sullivan's voice became markedly louder, showing that he was irritated. "And if she _had_ gotten her hands on that information, we'd know because you and I would both be dead!"

Evan turned to saunter back toward the car in order to make the trek to the small town of Nixa so that he could again scope out the various connections to Randy Orton. "This is a hell of a risk." He informed Sullivan glancing sideways at his old friend.

"Who put us in this position in the first place?" Acid purled from Sullivan's mouth when he reminded Evan yet again of his ineptitude. "The risk is worth the prize."

"I'm beginning to wonder about that." Evan grumbled as he slammed the car door shut thinking once more about his date the night prior with Lynn. He hadn't thought she would call back so soon after he'd left his number on the crumpled coffee receipt that he'd dug into his coat pocket for when she'd handed him the ink pen and nothing more. Hell, he hadn't even counted on her calling him back at all, especially if one took into account her raw sarcasm and prickly attitude when he'd mentioned that he needed to see her brother.

_'Maybe you ought to leave me your number.'_ She had said, eyeing him suspiciously and then, as a gesture of trust and a means of edging his foot into the veritable door of opportunity, Evan had handed her the velvet ring box and suggested that since he'd not yet refunded Randy's money for the ring purchase, that it would be improper for him to hold onto the ring.

Evan remembered how her hardened gaze had softened…only slightly, before she finally refused and told him that she didn't think Randy would mind if the ring stayed in a safe place, meaning locked in the jeweler's vault as opposed to being in her possession. He had agreed, thanked her for her time and turned to go, strangely reluctant to end the encounter. Lynn had remained on the porch step until he'd closed the door of the Buick, palming the wrinkled coffee receipt and watching him go. And of course Evan had chalked that up to the end of things, never believing she would call him back at all; certainly never believing that she would suggest they meet for coffee so she could apologize for her earlier angry outburst.

…_Awestruck. He could only term it as such. His sudden all-consuming desire to know everything about her took a sad backseat to his necessity of finding her brother. What brother? He'd found himself less and less interested in Randy Orton through the course of a coffee date, that had oddly turned into a five hour verbal detailing of her biography. A life he found utterly fascinating. And damned if it wasn't supposed to have happened this way…he was supposed to be tracking Barren, ruthlessly, mercilessly…unceasingly, and yet there he had been, mesmerized by honey-hazel eyes and a set of very lush lips that gave birth to some of the most sharp-witted comments and vivid descriptions of a life lived in her baby brother's shadow._

_"I don't mean to be so easily provoked when it comes to Randy." She admitted, almost sheepishly. "I really do love him, but dealing with him is like trying to hold a lit match between two fingers."_

_"You can only do it for so long before you get burned." Evan finished her sentence for her._

_"Exactly." Lynn nodded. "He's forever chasing some abstract dream and never looking out for the potholes along the way…he falls into them and someone, usually me, has to come running to bail him out."_

_Evan watched her gaze soften as she spoke and he was prone to think that she did still feel a fondness for her reckless sibling._

_"But sometimes, just a few times here and there, mind you." She began. "He can be the very most thoughtful and wonderful person you ever knew…" She paused as her face contorted to mournful reflection. "And then, something tall, in a skirt and usually brunette…" Lynn held up a finger pointedly. "Comes walking by and off he goes panting after her. He's a slave to his libido."_

_"I know how that can be." Evan admitted. And he did, because right now he was completely charmed by Lynn Orton. Finding it satisfying to watch her hand gestures as she spoke and then to wonder about the apparent softness of her skin, to admire the ivory translucence of her teeth when she grinned, which was something that was happening more and more by the minute. He supposed that she hadn't gone to any great lengths to fix her hair. The flaxen tresses falling in choppy layers around her heart shaped face implying that she was the type who need only run a comb through them to be sufficient for public exposure. Fine genetics made up who she appeared to be on the outside, but it was Randy Orton's antics and Lynn's obvious reactions to them that had made up some of who she was on the inside…but not all._

_She was sharp as a sword and enlightened, perceptibly well educated but not arrogantly so. Funny…she was damned funny._

_"It's like babysitting in an alternate universe where you never get paid and the parents never come pick their kid up." She tried to laugh off the humor, but Evan sensed she felt it accurately. _

_And just when he'd thought she couldn't have surprised him any further, he bore witness to what he assumed was a rare sliver of time in which her tower of contrived sturdiness crumbled. _

"_My father had a heart attack several weeks ago." Her voice was a trembling whisper as she twisted the corner of the napkin in her hand. _

_He felt true pity for her as she spoke, her eyes clouded, narrowing into a hurtful expression._

"_I really think that was the last straw for me…you know, when Randy was supposed to show and didn't." She propped her chin in one hand and chewed her lip for a moment. "H-he does it all the time and normally it's not as big a deal…" Her lips quivered and then she quickly covered her lapse in fortitude with a mild clearing of her throat and a swift aversion of her eyes. "But this time…it was a big deal, because …well, because it just was."_

"_It's okay, you don't have to explain." Evan softly reassured. "I understand what you mean." He wanted to touch her face and erase the pain that smoldered far behind the warm hazel of her eyes and that unwelcome desire to do so, perplexed him and pissed him off all in the same. He didn't need this sort of disruption…he needed a clear head and a flawless plan if he were to regain the upper hand in the chase. But why was it that here and now, in this moment, in the cozy coffee shop amongst the tantalizing smell of hazelnut, the ambient chatter and the calming yet enticing sight of Lynn Orton sipping her macchiato, he found himself enslaved by the desire to retract himself from the pursuit of Barren altogether._

_The only thing tethering Evan to the task of snaring Barren O'Neil, was the sheer knowledge that if he did not, he wouldn't live long enough to enjoy another cup of coffee period, much less one with Lynn Orton. And then that contemplation brought to mind the ostensible certainty that he would be made to get rid of Lynn anyhow, once he'd achieved access to her brother and Barren, whom he hoped was actually with Randy. And though he knew that killing Lynn after the fact was a grave possibility, he found himself scrambling mentally for an alternative... _

"A casualty of war, Evan." Sullivan's voice trespassed into the reverie, as if he'd been reading his mind. "She's a casualty of war, that's all…don't get it bent."

"I'm focused." Evan grouched, fibbing. He was no more focused than if he'd had blinders on. "Leave me be and watch me work." He then pulled his cell phone out to call Lynn so he could set up a dinner date.

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Calculating. In her mind, a thousand different thoughts of how to get one over on her husband, swirled and intertwined, bouncing off one another. In her nervousness her mind was scrambling. A slow smile crept over her features and she felt a warm blush that she was certain had pinkened her cheeks as she thought about his behavior while boarding the plane more than an hour ago. Politely he'd offered her the window seat in the first class section of the plane to which they had retreated. And of course, she'd declined just as graciously, citing the usefulness of the aisle seat in case she had to take a trip to the bathroom. "Especially since the ball and chain is so heavy…I'd hate to have to drag it any further than necessary."

He'd nodded apparently amused and then after a moment's thoughtful consideration, he announced in a purposely subdued voice. "Well, I guess I can let you off the chain for a little while." He then winked, grinned and promptly went back to reading his magazine.

Nancy had hoped that a remark like hers would have prompted some sort of irritation on his part, but he'd been masterfully deflecting her barbs as if he were completely oblivious of her intent.

How was it that she could make such a pointed effort to irritate him and yet he appeared completely unruffled, when no more than a day ago he'd been ready to use brute force to get her on the plane? She was sure that he was a mystery even without taking her loss of memory into consideration. More than an hour in the air and she'd found herself bored to tears with the in-flight movie and so with a pout, Nancy plucked the head phones out of her ears and laid them down on her lap, absentmindedly tapping the armrest with her nails.

"Do you wanna trade."

"Huh?" Nancy turned to find her husband with widened eyes, his soft inquiry for her, lifting the magazine slightly as a gesture of offering. "Oh, well okay…if your done."

Something in his smile as he handed over the magazine, reaching between her thighs to gently but brazenly recover the tiny ear buds that had fallen there, had her frozen to the spot. The action was completely concealed by the magazine that she held low and yet it suddenly seemed so scandalous in nature that she could scarcely breathe at the thrill of it. Just a strong warm hand grazing her covered skin as it retrieved what it sought…no more than a split second's touch and her mission to gain the upper hand was suddenly incinerated by the white-hot shiver and spark that shot through her.

"Thanks." He said nonchalantly, innocently aloof as he pressed the tiny buds into his ears, first one and then the other, staring forward at the screen in the back of the seat in front of him.

Nancy couldn't swear by it, but she thought he was leashing a smirk. And so she swallowed the nervous thrill that coursed through her body and popped open the magazine to see what sort of things a man like her husband liked to read about. The publication was filled with meaningless gossip about celebrities, but also a few sports statistics, current events and aspects of fashion that she felt inherently drawn to. Nancy knew in her nature that she was attracted to most everything dealing with high fashion, and it brought a smile to her face as she could begin to place a label…a designer name to the different dresses she saw. One willowy actress in particular was gliding across the red carpet, when the photo of her had been snapped and Nancy knew that the golden, crystal encrusted gown, with a very risqué slit and barely attached shoulder strap was a gown designed by Vera Wang.

Now, how she could possibly recall the name Vera Wang and how in the world Nancy could recognize her work was a mystery, but it was pleasing to her hidden insecurities to know that she was beginning to recognize something with which she was sure she should be familiar. She flipped through a few more nondescript pages when a movie premier event caught her attention. It grabbed onto her mainly because the very striking face staring back up at her just happened to be that of her husband. "By gosh you are everywhere, aren't you?" Nancy said, not realizing that he'd taken the earbuds out just then, also bored by the prospect of the movie.

"Sorry." He mumbled, having just then bumped her arm and he was certain that her remark had been meant to rebuke him for his clumsiness. He removed his massive arm prepared to relinquish the armrest, when she stopped him.

"No, what I meant was that you're _everywhere_." She gently corrected.

He seemed slightly unarmed by the soft touch of her fingers on his forearm, an amenable gesture meant for him to repossess his armrest.

When she removed her hand she smiled and pointed to the photograph in the magazine where Dave stood alone on the red carpet of a random event, a half smile on his face dressed in light grey Prada, with his hands in his pockets. She was positive that he could have graced the cover of GQ Magazine. "See?"

"Oh." He nodded. "John Cena's movie premier…that was a long time ago." He squinted so that he could read the caption below the picture, but the only detailing it gave was a tiny plug about his very lucrative endorsement deals with Muscle-Tech nutrition and bodybuilding supplements and a buzzing rumor about a movie deal. "News to me." He grinned and shrugged referring to the movie rumor.

"Where was I?" Nancy ventured the question, wondering if he left her home often, from public events.

"You and Audrey and Vanessa were about ten steps behind me, shooting the breeze in your very first and _only_ meeting with Harry Connick, Jr., who just happens to be your—"

"My favorite music artist…" She finished the sentence for him, inexplicably relieved to know that she had been somewhere around if not in the photograph.

"That's right." His voice was soft and his eyes probed hers.

"I found all of his collection in the truck." She grinned sheepishly and then laughed again. "I just figured that for me to have so much of his music, he had to be one of my favorites. That and the fact that the first night I came home, you teased me about him."

Her green eyes danced when her lips curved into the smile, and he found that he liked those moments when she let down her guard and allowed him in. Beautiful, she skimmed over another page and then another. Every few seconds she would find something interesting and show it to him, but for the life of him he could not have remembered her words. Dave was gridlocked in the moment…just being at peace with her.

"There I am." She said. He heard her laugh softly and then she lifted the page to show him a photo of herself…not fully herself, but her body half obscured by that of Mick Foley. He could see her smile captured on film as she shook hands with his only rival, good ole' Harry, who he knew could never in a million years sweep Nancy off her feet…because she might love Harry's music, but she was madly in love with Dave…even if she couldn't remember it.

And though the photographer had been intent on capturing Mick Foley's image, this was a rare case when the backdrop clearly surpassed the forefront. Dave held the page between his thumb and forefinger. "Breathtaking." He observed softly, thinking of the dress she had worn that night, a dress that she'd designed. A soft coral that lay in demure obedience against her lithe frame, save for the flirty dip between her breasts and the much more scandalous plunge down her back, where the fabric pooled, shirring just millimeters above her tailbone. He'd had his ever rebellious hand in there at the hotel room before the premier tickling her spine and whispering allusions of eroticism in her ear while his daughters were in the next room. Dave also remembered her hair, the cinnamon curls swept into a glossy swirl at the back of her head, beckoning his insubordinate fingers. And then of course there was her excited and nervous chatter on the way to the premier…it was fresh in his mind, as was the very firm last-second kiss she'd planted on his mouth in the limo, before sweeping her lipstick on. "Coral shimmer's not your color." She had told him certain she'd done him a favor, saving him from the indignity of wearing her lip-gloss by transference. He wouldn't have minded.

"Well, I wouldn't say breathtaking." Nancy piped up, responding to his distracted musing. "He's somewhat…rugged, but certainly not breathtaking." She jokingly pointed to Mick Foley. "Of course I can be sure and tell him your thoughts tomorrow night at your show…it says here he's a wrestler, he shouldn't be too hard to find."

Dave snorted a laugh. "The only thing breathtaking in that picture is—"

"Don't say it." Nancy's left hand went up in genteel caveat as if to silence him. Effectively so, for he ceased his speech and for the span of a few seconds he waited, his dark eyes piercing hers as if there was something he wished for but hadn't yet found the way to request it. "We wouldn't want Harry to get jealous." She whispered.

Nancy had meant to prevent him from voicing the compliment because though it was flattering it was still slightly embarrassing, and yet enduring that miniscule embarrassment would have been the tamest of incidents, being as Dave gently grasped her left hand before it could retreat to the safety of her lap. His gesture came out of nowhere, soft and unthreatening.

He bit his lower lip as he looked down at the diamond on her hand and he could not stop himself from lifting her fingers to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the flesh of her knuckles. The curve of his full lip and the glimmer of mischief in his eye foretold an exciting endeavor in the making, and then with a grin, he let his lips brush her hand once more and then spoke. "It's not Harry who has the problem with jealousy." He released her hand and watched with hidden mirth as she tugged it back down to grasp the magazine which she accidentally crumpled in her efforts.

"So, um…do you think Randy and Barren are fairing well with Audrey?" She asked, quickly changing the subject. "You don't think he'll fold if Audrey begs him to stay home, do you?"

Dave released a satisfied sigh as he chalked up another unintentional victory over his wife, and then he said. "I don't think he'll have any trouble…he should be just fine." He wouldn't vocally express his doubts about Randy's ability to withstand Audrey's clever manipulations. "I'm sure she's already in class getting ready for the Pledge of Allegiance."

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"I can't go!" Was Audrey's panicked demand as she held fast to the inside handle of the car door when Randy tried in earnest to extract her from the back passenger seat.

He had hold of the lower half of her body, lifting her halfway off the ground…begging, tugging, bargaining…all to no avail. "Audrey, pleeeeze let go of the door…" Randy pleaded, handing Barren Audrey's backpack, when it slid off of her shoulders in the struggle. Randy ceased for a moment and then battling to form a rational thought through the haze of his frustration, he asked. "Where's your class?"

"On the second floor." Audrey responded, never lessening her hold on the door.

Randy huffed. "Well that eliminates the idea of a drive-through drop off!" It disturbed him that she was putting up such a fight and in his exasperation; he was half tempted to run the car through the building, just to get her inside. "Let go of the door…" He commanded softly once again and then he resumed his erstwhile attempts at wrenching her away from the car door.

"I can't!"

"Yes you can, it's real easy." Randy said grunting and tugging. "You…just…open up your…hands and…let…go!" He finally managed to yank Audrey free, only to have her whip around and latch onto his long, lean leg before he could register what was happening.

"Audrey, stand up!"

"Never!" She hollered, winding her body like a python around his leg.

Randy sighed loudly, laying his face in his massive hands, wondering what heinous sin of his youth had relegated him to the indignity of standing in the middle of the parking lot with a three-feet tall, cape wearing second-grader twined around his left leg while twenty or so parents with quizzical expressions looked on, making no attempt whatsoever, to rescue him. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked helplessly as Barren stood next to the passenger door, politely repressing her laughter.

Barren shrugged, chewing her bottom lip, but then she finally stepped forward to try her hand at extricating Randy from the prison of _'Audrey the contortionist'_. Only Barren decided a verbal attempt was better serving. "Audrey, why won't you go to class?" Her voice was gentle but genuine. "Is the work too hard?"

Audrey scoffed, still attached to Randy's long leg. "Of course not!" It was as if the suggestion of inferiority where her knowledge was concerned had somehow irked the little girl.

"Was somebody hateful to you?" Came Barren's next question.

"Somebody will be." Randy grumbled the prophecy, thinking of how Dave would react when he discovered that Randy, the self professed competent friend, was currently nothing more than a giant, jungle-gym for his daughter. "Come on, we're going to class." Randy announced firmly, lifting his imprisoned leg. Step, drag…step, drag, from the car to the stairway and then into the building, with Audrey seated on his foot, her arms and legs wrapped around his leg, whining and protesting the entire way…it was an image straight out of Dr. Spock's book of how _not_ to parent.

"I can't go to class!" Audrey insisted in a shrill squawk as her cape dragged through the puddles, tattered and soaked. "I forgot my math book and Toby teases me about everything! He'll tease me about this too!"

"All of this for a math book?" Randy asked incredulously, his face contorting into a mask of feeble confusion. "Are you kidding me?"

Audrey shook her head, sniffling, yet never releasing his leg. "He'll make-fun of me in class about it and then he'll say I left it in my chump Daddy's car…or he'll say that my stepmoms too stupid to remember to make me take it."

"Audrey, you have to face this kid sometime." Randy was exhausted, at a loss…and still trapped by her immovable grip. "At some point you have to stop running from stuff that hasn't even happened yet!" He softened when he saw the dark, pleading almond eyes staring up at him. "You don't know that he'll say those things, you just think he will and you're all ready to go run and hide…that's no way to deal with things."

And then it hit him. His very own words…a flashpoint in the life of Randy Orton…they suddenly dawned within him a realization that his dealings with the trauma in his own life were not so different from Audrey. He was running from every responsibility he'd ever been given, simply because he had thought he knew how things would turn out if he stuck around. Randy refused to face Lynn, because he was just positive he knew how she would treat him, the words she would say, insults she would hurl and so he had run away from her too. He stared down at Audrey Bautista, latched to his leg like a human leech. "Let go for a second, okay?" Randy softly commanded, an expression of sad seriousness pulling at his features. He knelt down right in the middle of the school foyer, as close to her eye level as was possible due to his size. "I'll make a deal with you."

Audrey was skeptical, as evidenced by the narrowing of her eyelids, her long lashes became an awning over her espresso irises. "What kinda deal?"

Randy took a deep breath, untied the cape from around Audrey's neck, and passed it behind him to Barren who draped the stained and soaked 'garment' over her forearm. "I'll quit being a coward, if you will."

"I'm not a coward." Audrey insisted, scowling.

"Oh, no?" Randy questioned.

"No, I'm brave." She affirmed.

"Then go to class." he challenged.

Audrey's resolute face broke. "I can't…" Her response came out on a whimper.

"I thought you were brave…" He began. "Brave girls go to class, even when they're scared."

Audrey appeared confused. "You can't be brave and scared at the same time." She shook her head as if Randy hadn't a single earthly clue.

"Wanna bet?" Randy lifted his chin. "Brave people get scared all the time…I was scared when Nancy and I had that wreck…but I had to be brave until the ambulance came."

Audrey's eyes widened with his honesty. "You were scared?"

"That's the scaredest I've ever been." He nodded. "But what do you think would have happened if I had run away?"

Audrey's face was somber. "She woulda died."

Randy nodded. "Yeah she would have."

"But nobody's gonna die if I don't go to class." Audrey insisted and though Randy had the urge to beg to differ, he simply said. "Brave girls do what they know they have to, even when they're scared."

A heavy sigh dragged itself from Audrey's throat and with a pained expression she conceded, with the condition that Randy walk her to the classroom. He and Barren ascended the stairs with Audrey holding onto Randy's hand, a despondent look on her face.

Randy had to duck his head in order to keep from knocking into the airplane mobile suspended from the classroom ceiling, as he led Audrey to her desk amidst a very abrupt and curious silence. Readying himself to leave, he turned to behold the captivated expression contorting the face of a flaming, red-haired Toby Davis, who unbeknownst to Audrey was one of Randy Orton's biggest fans.

"I just _knew_ you would come." Toby spoke the words on a sigh of pleasure. "I wrote a letter to Santa this Christmas because I wanted to meet you in real life! And you came! You really came!"

Audrey was shocked but she remained silent, still holding onto Randy's hand.

"What's your name?" Randy asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Toby Davis." The boy put his trembling hand out.

"I do believe I received an e-mail from Santa last week, I think it was." Randy reached his own massive hand down grasping the boy's much smaller one and giving it a no-nonsense shake. "I'm Randy Orton…I'm also a friend of Audrey's. I'm pleased to meet you."

Toby's mouth popped open, his eyes becoming saucers. "You _know_ him?" He addressed his arch rival with newfound respect.

Audrey nodded proudly. "Of course I do…he wrestles with my Daddy, and they are _best_ friends." She added for good measure.

Inferring from Audrey's admission that he'd better be nice or else lose out on a chance at an autograph, Toby swallowed and then said. "That's cool, Audrey." And then to Randy, he turned and explained. "Yeah, me and her are friends too…we do soccer together…I'm real good, just ask her."

"I see." Randy said, smiling.

"Yeah, he's pretty good." Audrey admitted, her grudge against Toby Davis fading fast.

"I have all of your figurines and tons of your promo pictures!" Toby said excitedly. "I wish I'da known you were coming cuz I'da brought 'em." His voice was wishful, but mildly disappointed at the thought of missing out on a coveted autograph.

Randy smiled, elated that a simple introduction had solved Audrey's dilemma of dealing with the boy. "Why don't you bring your stuff to the soccer game tonight and I'll autograph everything you have."

"Really???" Toby placed both hands over his heart in true amazement. "You'll be there?"

"Sure…You asked Santa for it didn't you?" Randy said, shook the boy's hand again and then reminded Audrey that he'd meet her downstairs in the foyer after school. To the teacher he lobbed an apology for the distraction and then after a kind dismissal he laced his fingers through Barren's and exited the school, feeling better than he had in days.

Barren was fighting to hold back tears over the endearing way he had dealt with two children…Audrey who had been determined to boycott school for life, if it meant eluding Toby Davis' teasing…and then Toby himself, who had made a Christmas wish to meet his idol, and gotten it. Even until this very moment she had somehow been trying to subconsciously convince herself that Randy Orton was as shallow as he was athletic…as one-dimensional as he was desirable. Doing so would have made it easier to leave when the time came. And to top it off, his gently profound revelation, had hit home with Barren just as it had with Audrey; _"Brave girls do what they know they have to, even when they're scared."_

But after what she had involuntarily borne witness to this morning…there was no denying that Randy Orton was a man of some substance. And that was going to make leaving him ten times as hard. She snuggled against his side enjoying the warmth and solidity of his body as they crossed the parking lot toward the car. "Since we're rid of everyone until this afternoon, what do you say we go make good use of the alone time?"

Randy leaned over to remove from his pant leg, something closely resembling a marshmallow and most likely transferred during his struggle with Audrey. Once done he stood up and cradled Barren's face in his palms, pressing his full lips against hers. "That's a great idea, as long as you don't mind a guy who smells like _'Lucky Charms'_"

"I must have forgotten to tell you…" Barren softly touched her lips to the cleft in his chin. "_'Lucky Charms'_ is my favorite cologne."

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It had been almost three days since Owen had had any contact with Barren. If you could even call it contact, the miserable tidbit of conversation that the two shared. He was heinously irritated and terrified for her safety. Whatever was keeping her, was certainly either very important or very dangerous. Through their last communication he had learned nothing more than what he already knew, she'd had to ditch the key. That much he'd figured out already, because he'd been the one to tell her to do so if she were left with no other choice. He had known that making that decision would save her life, for Sullivan would never kill her so long as that key was still out there somewhere and he could bank on the assumption that she knew where it was.

The thing that Owen couldn't figure out was what in the blue hell was taking her so long to find it? Since she had ditched the key, it was conceivable that she remembered where she had left it. So why the world had she not yet retrieved it? Could she not understand that everything from their physical lives to their future, as well as the state of the entire Irish government was riding on the disclosure of criminal activities in McCaughey's political party? Another major disturbance was that Barren seemed to have no problem gaining access to the chat room to speak with her, and yet she couldn't seem to get across the border with the evidence. Something fishy was going on…something unlike her normal self…and aberration…a piss-poor, careless deviation from the norm that had him wondering who she might have gone to for help…Barren was self sufficient, but not that damned self sufficient. He knew that she could not have made it this long without investing her trust in someone for the procurement of needed resources. All he could hope for was that she hadn't trusted the wrong type of person.

He slapped his newspaper down onto the table top and stood to his feet, letting the chair scrape loudly as he did so. Owen knew what he wanted to do, knew what he needed to do. But he would wait; give her a little more time and if she didn't succeed soon, he would be forced to go after her, the key and the information. Owen could only pray that they would both come through it alive.

Lifting the small pad of paper on which he had written the recent IP addresses that he had run across during his hacking of the chat sites; More than 300 in the past 12 hours alone. It could be difficult, if not next to impossible to pin down the one that Barren had used, but at least he could determine duplicates, discard those…narrow it down and pinpoint where she might be. A shiver raced up his spine when he remembered that if _he_ was able to find her, Sullivan might also be able to. Nonetheless, it would be better that he found her before Sullivan did. And so setting himself to the task, he pulled the rolling chair up to the laptop and powered it up, prepared to track a needle in a haystack.

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Dave watched her finish the last bite of her dinner and then lay the elegant silver fork on the front edge of her plate, pushing it away.

"That was excellent." She told him. "I'm _so_ full."

He admired the roundness of her belly where her hand was perched and then with dual connotation he stated. "You're full on two counts."

Color rose high in her cheeks when she caught the implication. He smiled when he saw it…the softest shade of pink, attractive as it settled on her face and then drifted down to the flesh of her chest, out past her collarbone to the fragile set of her shoulders, left bare by the soft chocolate colored top held in place by the silken gold lame ribbon tied around her slender neck. That was another one of her creations, designed before she'd ever had her accident and likely made to emphasize her pregnancy rather than hide it. All it did for him was remind him how very full and ripe her breasts were, how slender her backside remained, how very long it had been since he'd been able to indulge himself in her curves.

A glance at her sparkling green eyes told him that she was in fine form and would likely be prepared to banter should their encounter require it. And why shouldn't she be? She'd been playful and witty all day. Taking a different approach had been his intent; Lull her into a false sense of security, that's what he'd do…and then once he got her back to the hotel, he'd very covertly tease her, taunt her and seduce her and if the luck of the Irish was with him, he might convince her to let him make love to her.

…_He'd played the game masterfully, orchestrating a shopping trip at the Beverly Center, one of the most well known and popular attractions in Los Angeles. Dave had been determined to indulge her whims, buy her anything she wanted…something, anything to instigate the letting down of her guard._

_But she hadn't wanted to buy things for herself. She had wanted things for Vanessa and Audrey. Strange purchases, he had to admit; a black oversized top-hat for Audrey, which he'd thought rather odd and when he'd asked, Nancy blinked as if she might not ought to tell him, then said, "For her Rabbit tricks." For Vanessa, she had purchased a high dollar Louis Vuitton knapsack, one he could have sworn his daughter already owned, but he hadn't asked about that one, remiss to hurt Nancy's feelings by revealing that she was purchasing a duplicate. But after the knapsack had been wrapped and placed neatly in a large black and white shopping bag, she'd turned to him and then she'd admitted the specifics of Audrey's botched first attempt at a rabbit trick and how it had involved the 'Looney Bag'. And though Dave could never have accurately related it to Nancy, that simple confession buoyed his affection for her; because just as before she was still playing devil's advocate to Audrey no matter what she had done and protector to Vanessa who usually ended up the unwilling recipient of the pranks._

_He had gleaned from the timid look on her face that she was prepared for a possible scolding for having withheld the details of that particular incident from him. And since she didn't have the luxury of remembering that he wasn't prone to due such, he took it as an opportunity to insert yet another of his battle worthy barbs. "Well I can think of a few fitting punishments for what you've done." His intent had been sexual, and when she'd realized it she rolled her pale green eyes and gave way to a wry smile. The gesture tempted him to kiss her on the mouth for the purpose of righting her lips to their normal full stillness, but he'd settle for kissing her chastely above the brow. He swept the shopping bags from her grip and laced long fingers through hers guiding her through the mezzanine and outside toward the parking garage. _

_Dave had been so elated by the apparent shift in her demeanor that he somehow knew implementing the final stages of his plan on seducing his wife had to happen tonight…and strangely, somehow the battle wasn't as important anymore as the victory._

_He wanted her back in his bed, not just there beside him either, but writhing beneath him, while his eager mouth and restless hands were on a hundred different parts of her body. He wanted her panting, clawing, crying out while doing all the things they'd done to make that baby in her belly in the first place…and he wanted it now. The image of her chestnut curls, glossy and tumbling down the flesh of her naked back was so utterly bright and fresh in his mind that he had to swallow and very subtly shake his head to cast it away. But the image was rebellious and returned like a greased boomerang, only this time in a different but equally taunting form, for she was facing him, straddling his hips and cradling his head while his face was buried in her breasts, and his shaft was buried to the hilt. _

_Another attempt to rid himself of the scandalously sweet images of his wife only made him acutely aware of her fingers linked through his and the sudden hot spark whizzing up his arm at the remembrance of what those fingers could do to him._

_'Stop…Don't think about it.'Dave silently warned himself, but that ever insolent, hellishly deranged inner animal revolted and thrust the thought into his feeble brain anyhow. And so there they were…Those delicate fingers of hers, elegant, agile…gliding across the muscled plane of his chest, curling softly around the bulge of his biceps…Those dainty, slender fingers, pushing against his powerful shoulders, guiding him down in tandem with the breathless requests from her kiss swollen lips. Those gentle fingers, more demanding this time as they gripped his hair when he tossed both of her legs over his shoulders, and went down, down---! He hadn't realized that his grip on her hand had tightened, nor that he'd very noticeably picked up his pace, until her gentle tug had caused him to stop, snatching him from the very wicked thoughts he'd been enjoying._

_"Sorry." He grumbled, slowing his pace, loosening his grip and then looking down on her, but the sunlight on the bright California day, had cast fiery beams through her curls, making her hair a halo of molten gold, infused with deep darker ribbons of silk closer to her face. Dark like his thoughts. He breathed deeply and swallowed again, noting that she smiled cordially and then appeared slightly confused by his feral expression, no doubt. And that damnable, wretched sunlight was gleaming off of that olive skin of hers, reminding him of how smooth, how very warm and alive that skin could become under his fingertips; how that enticing flesh of hers meshed with his in the heat of their entanglement, glistening on the sheets with sweat; hers and his, how it smelled and tasted faintly of strawberries whenever he let his lips roam unchecked all over it, over the regal slant of her neck, the lush fullness of her breasts---Damn it all to hell!_

_"Are you okay?"_

_He heard her ask the question and he was attempting not to look at her, when he nodded stiffly and cleared his throat. _

"_You don't look okay." Her voice was softer and he could have sworn he detected a definite note of concern. And he wanted to speak, to tell her that he was fine, but it would have been a lie. Fine was something he most certainly was not! Everything about her was haunting him, even her voice brought about a startling reminiscence of her pre-orgasmic pleas, the demands that fell sweetly from her lips while he was inside of her, thrusting deeply; The confessions of her love for him, the begging for more…harder, faster, deeper. Everything from the tender moans and soft gasps when he was touching her to the incomprehensible cries when she was just seconds from her release. They seemed to echo in his ears and he was sure that anyone within a hundred yards could hear them right this very moment, just as clearly as he could._

_"Dave?" He felt her stop walking beside him, and when she ceased it forced him to halt as well. _

_'Don't look at her, don't do it…' The silent warning from his logical mind had him staring at a 'No Parking Allowed' sign as of it were fine art._

_"Dave?" Again she asked, much more concerned this time and he had determined that he would control the beast and stifle his urgings by ignoring her, but it was a useless endeavor, especially when one of her hands made modest contact with his chest as the other came to rest on the flesh over his oblique muscle, when she stepped in front of him glancing up at him with a fearful look. Intense, blinding desire zipped through his body originating from the point of contact with her hands and it shook him all the way to his core. Manifested in a noticeable tremor through his frame that she felt, it wrenched from her a soft murmur of confusion. "Oh, no, you're not okay, are you?" _

_He let out a pent up breath and then looked down on her again, this time his brows knitted together and his eyes were darkened lending to his features an almost pained expression. "It's just nerves…happens before a big show." He was a damned liar._

_She nodded, not quite convinced that he wasn't having a panic attack of sorts. "Do you need a minute?" She asked, never removing her hands._

_He nearly quaked again when he felt the almost imperceptible circle that her fingers were making on his abs as she moved to position her body around the shopping bag. 'If you keep touching me, I'm gonna need more than a minute.' He wanted to say it, but he wouldn't admit to her that she was having such an alarming effect on him, because to do so would mean relinquishing the victory to her. It would mean admitting how her mere presence had tossed a tantalizing, tempting, cursedly seductive monkey wrench into his best laid plans. "I'll be fine." He told her, reaching down with his free hand, to right a loose curl that the wind had coaxed from her casually constructed coif. _

_He always wanted her…there had never been a problem in that area, but he wanted her so fiercely now that it scared him. It wasn't safe to feel something this strongly…and he knew without a doubt that he had only one of two options. He either had to have her in every facet imaginable and soon; or he had to get the hell away from her before he unleashed every haunting, repressed desire that thrummed through his veins fighting for release…_

"Tired?" He asked softly, leaning back nonchalantly in the chair across from her.

His expression was strange, she thought and it made her nervous. Not fearful, just unsettled. A piercing gaze with those deep eyes, made her certain that he could see right through her. He was thinking of something…probably something erotic. Or maybe it was her imagination only because she had been thinking such sensuous thoughts herself. "Not very." She answered and shook her head.

Why was he smiling? Not a wide smile, not a smirk…it was a half smile—one that made her believe that surely he was planning something. And why did he have to rewet his lower lip with his tongue, that way? Her breath lodged in her throat and she was certain she could feel that tongue in the hollow of her throat. How was it that she could clearly imagine it moist and hot circling her nipple, trailing over her stomach and her hips delving into the most secret places of her body? She was throbbing now and her thoughts repeated themselves in rhythm to the perfect beat of her pounding heart. _'He knows, he knows, he knows.' _

Nancy found herself looking away, for a moment to clear her head, staring out into the dark…the beauty of the skyline, lit up by streetlights, and the like. Disturbing though it was, she had expected it of him…the naughty thoughts, but not of herself. She hadn't asked for her mind to wander when they'd entered the restaurant and begun a light conversation. His hand…that muscular calloused hand…fingers curled around the wine glass…dear God it shouldn't have given her visions, or maybe it was memories, of those hands trailing over her back, grasping her shoulders and forcing her backward against him. Nor should the sight of him straightening his cuff, have brought on such a stimulating imagining of how that hand would feel, splaying and caressing the flesh of her belly, over her hip, down between her legs, gently parting her thighs, daring to enter her…one finger, then two—'Stop!' her conscious mind screamed out, though her lips did not let the command pass.

"Hello?" She heard him say. "Are you lost?"

Her head snapped up. "What? Huh? Oh…no." She frowned, certain she had been caught…he could probably read her mind. And yes, she was lost, but she'd never let on. Lost in a fantasy that she couldn't completely form without full remembrance…and yet her mind seemed to have no problem fitting the pieces together for the sole purpose of taunting her.

"You're flushed." He stated. "You're not nauseous are you?"

She might have thought she saw genuine concern in his eyes, for they lightened and his brow arched as he stared at her face and then her stomach. _'Oh, please…No, don't do that…'_ her mind protested when she witnessed him bite his bottom lip and then gently release it, letting it slide slowly through his teeth. Surely he had no clue what it had done to her composure. Almost as clear as rainwater was the image that rippled through her brain, of him behind her, his hands grasping her hips as he seated her on his lap and then she could feel those teeth nibbling her shoulder, gently scraping her arm, soft bites on her backside after he'd playfully forced her face down in the covers, amidst a tirade of her laughter and protest…she sat straight up, her back stiff as a board, not quite noticing that she had made the smallest gasp. Nancy realized that she was either having a very potent, abstract memory, or her mind was trying to force her to admit that she desired him. Sizzling, pulsating throb…right where she wanted it most and needed it least, and then she looked up and was suddenly reminded that he'd spoken.

"Do what?" She asked, scatterbrained, disjointed.

"I asked if you were going to be sick." He was truly concerned, she could tell by the way he sat up and leaned forward to touch her cheek with the back of his knuckles, as if he meant to determine if she might have a fever.

"N-No." Nancy said, her heart thumping in her ears. "Maybe I am a little tired." She wasn't a little tired, she was a little liar!

He was standing to his full height—his very intimidating, majestic height—pausing to extend his hand to her. It was then that she couldn't help but notice how very large a man he was, sheltering wall of muscle…virile and powerful from his broad shoulders to his slim waist and those thick and magnificent thighs. And that very strong full-bodied stance only served to convince her that he'd been on top of her, behind her inside of her…and she had loved every minute of it…she just knew it.

Nancy accepted the offer of his hand, grasping his fingers a little tighter than she might have needed to. Trembling, her hand…and she watched his expression flicker from husbandly concern to momentary perplexity. And there it went again, the slight clench of his jaw and his tongue darting out again in search of his bottom lip. She wanted to stomp her foot like a child and demand he stop giving free reign to all of those alluring little ambient motions. But to do so would mean that she insist he cease existing altogether, because everything about him today had been startlingly arousing. And furthermore, to do so, meant that she would be forced to reveal the truly disturbing fact that he was edging his way past her defenses…that she was losing the battle.

She took a deep breath, bent on ignoring the tingle in her lower back as his capable hand met with her flesh there, guiding her toward the door…toward the car…toward the hotel where she wasn't certain she could resist, should he wish to reawaken desires, already ablaze within her.


	24. Chapter 23

**Uncommon Bond**

Chapter 23

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time."

-_Chinese Proverb_

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He found himself disturbingly unable to remain calm and aloof as he waited for her. In truth, he was fairly going out of his mind. Dave Batista knew that though he was, in fact waiting for _her_…it was likely that she was _not_ readying herself for an encounter with him. An encounter that his bloody disorganized brain had conceived of the moment he'd left the restaurant, after having spent the entire evening replaying the day's shopping trip over in his head. However given he was to fantasy, he was more prone to believe that his wife was merely enjoying her shower and likely not thinking of _him_ at all…at least not in the way he happened to be thinking of her.

And though normally he might have been in there with her under the same hot stream of water, it was some consolation that as of late she had even allowed him to be in the same county where she showered. He leaned in, pressing his ear against the door, seeking sounds that would signal an end to her shower and he found them in the squeak of the knob and the cease of spray hitting the tub floor. Abruptly he pulled away from the door and tiptoed from the suite into the living area, as if he'd not been spying.

It was a modicum of relief that she had made the mistake of leaving her fresh clothing on the bed instead of taking it into the bathroom with her…a mistake he was grateful she had made. Now all Dave had to do was 'accidentally' walk in on her as she was dressing and then hopefully things would progress the way he'd been wishing they would since her arrival home. It was a faultless plan…possible, conceivable…unless of course she was swift enough to snatch up the clothing and duck back into the sanctity of the bathroom. He hadn't thought of that beforehand and so he launched himself from the sofa, propelled into action the second he heard the bathroom door being opened.

Nancy noticed him standing there in the doorway, the very moment she emerged from the steaming bathroom. She padded softly across the carpet toward her bed-clothing, her heated skin quickly cooling in the air. She noticed that he entered the room with slow determined steps, perhaps waiting on something. Her? A shiver trickled upward from the base of her spine and strangely she found she could not look at him…and yet she also found she was oddly remiss for him to exit. His steps placed him on the opposite side of the bed…where her clothing lay, folded neatly.

"Feel better?" Wet and wrapped in a fluffy white towel, she was still a sight for sore eyes and as he asked the question, he wondered if it were meant for her or for himself.

A nod and a smile. "Mmm, hmm." Her murmured answer came.

Though he desperately wished to, he could not read the thoughts behind her expression, not fully, for it flickered from hesitation to confusion and then to what he judged might be fear. Dave would have handed her clothing to her, but his plan demanded that he remain ambiguous, and their battle dictated that he make a move only after he was certain with what he might be dealing.

Nancy cleared her throat and stared at the pile of clothing…possibly wishing she could will _it_ to walk to _her_. But the bed was large. So large in fact that she could not simply reach from one side to the other to grasp the clothing. He knew it…and she knew it too. Secretly he was pleased…she would have to circle the bed and come closer if she wished to get her clothing.

"Could you?" She motioned toward the pile with her free hand, while the other clutched the towel tightly around her body.

"Hmmm?" He schooled his expression appearing detached, nonchalant.

Nancy wet her lip and he sensed she was the slightest bit unnerved. "My clothes…" She prompted softly. "Could you hand them to me?"

She would run the moment the fabric touched her palms. She would dive back into that bathroom latch the door and the moment would be gone. Dave knew it…and so did she. And though he truly wanted her to round that bed, inches from him and retrieve her own clothing, he supposed it would be rude not to assist her…not to comply with her request. Oh, but what a wicked, sizzling scenario blazed through his brain when he decided that he _would_ hand her the pile. And Nancy had asked him to hand it to her, hadn't she? But she'd not specified _how_ or from what length of distance, so he very graciously lifted the bundle, perching it on his hand much like a waiter's tray…and circled the bed himself.

Nancy's heart, already rapping loudly in her chest threatened to burst through her ribcage as he skirted the periphery of the bed and came to a halt mere inches from her. She was dubious of his intent, and suffocating on the sensual heat of his presence. Not to mention the alarming fact that he stood solid, bare-chested in front of her…affording her the wanton opportunity to become completely mesmerized by the play of light across the ridges made by his muscles. Shadow and light…delving into contours changed by the mere lift of his chest as he breathed and the thought of her fingers, feather-light over those striations forced a tremor through her body.

"Your clothes." He reminded, his voice smooth and low drew her gently from her thoughts.

She grasped the bed-clothes firmly, if even a bit hastily…and stuttered a rapid thanks, but when she spun to retreat as he had known she would, his hand snaked out to grasp the elbow of the arm that held her towel in place. He counted it a wise move, because in order for her to draw back it meant she risked losing the towel altogether. His gentle grip remained on her elbow in spite of the nervous and questioning expression that suddenly flooded her features, and then he sat on the edge of the bed, drawing _her_ forward.

Nancy had a choice to make…either possess the pile of cursed clothing or keep the towel that already was treacherously close to slipping open. And as he suspected she might, she dropped the clothing in lieu of retaining the last vestiges of her covering. Both hands came up to clasp the towel to her chest, as he very gently pulled her to a sideways sitting position on his lap. This forced the towel to fall awkwardly open in the back though it remained covering her front.

"Dave, don't—I'm not dressed—please…" A gasp flew from her mouth as she landed with a soft thump on top of his lap and before she could give an adequate tongue lashing, he cut her off.

"I'm not going to hurt you…I just want to feel the baby." That wasn't true, not completely. Yes, there was that…but he'd wanted to feel her too, close and tranquil, without all of her false defenses. She began a silent protest, but he stilled her, with his next request. "Don't deprive me of that right, please. It's not fair."

She was trembling on his lap, and his eyes bore deep into hers. She hadn't been fair…he was correct on that point. She'd been avoiding his attempts to corner her as of late, hoarding their child, not purposely, but out of her doubt and distrust for him. No, she hadn't been fair to him at all. Nancy swallowed thickly as he looked at the rise of her belly and then placed his hand on it. His hands, huge…soft…one of them covered much of the landscape of her stomach as it was, and the gentle pressure of his touch brought forth a thump from the child inside. Another…and then again, softer…a roll of an appendage and as she watched him smile, as his hand experienced the life she'd had the privilege of sustaining, she felt herself beginning to calm. And as soon as she did so, she became keenly aware of the hand on her bare back, supporting her; warm and solid just like the one on her belly.

Nancy was also very aware of his powerfully muscular thighs upon which she was perched; the tingling warmth of her shoulder and her upper arm, pressed against his chest…the nearness of his face when she turned her head toward him.

"He moves often." She heard him say and she nodded, when his breath tickled her cheek.

"Less now." She admitted.

He knew that meant she was closer to delivery and he took a deep satisfied breath, and moved his hand from the middle to the side of her stomach, where his son was seeking space. "He favors this side."

She smiled, and bit her lip. He knew? He must have been watching her far more often than she gathered. A nod and she was suddenly terrified to look at him…she knew without making eye contact that those polished, chocolate irises would be darkening to a shade close to stormy black. Nancy just knew deep within, in the place where her memory, though not conscious, signaled that the shift in him was because he desired her. To look at him might insinuate she was inviting something more than just his curiosity for their child and so she swallowed again and made a concerted effort to concentrate on the painting across the room.

His hand slid from the top of her stomach to her thigh and she felt his chest rise and fall with each breath…the other hand, making lazy circles on her spine. "I love this part of you." He whispered softly, looking at her, as he dipped his fingers into the valley of her lower back. It amused him that she remained rigid on his lap, timid, unable to return the glance, and so he continued his subtle foray, determined to break her down.

"And this part too." Fingertips floated effortlessly over the skin on the inside of her knee; he found himself pleased when he heard a swift, barely audible intake of breath.

She turned, unable to remain impassive at his touch. She'd been right when she imagined the color to which his eyes would transform when he was consumed with need…they were deep, darker than fresh coffee, they were piercing, lucid. Again, she was conscious of his hands, his thighs…his chest and…alarmingly, the turgid length of his manhood, pressed thick and solid…imposing against her hip. There was the fabric of his pants and the terry of the towel, both covering her hip, between him and her and yet her skin caught fire as if the contact were flesh on flesh.

The tiniest yelp popped from her mouth and she moved to stand, but he held her there, quickly settling her. "No, no, no…please." He said, both large hands clamping around her hips to prevent her skittish flight.

"I can't!" Nancy insisted, breathing heavily. "I'm not even dressed…I-I can't sit here on your lap!"

His brow pleated, and he dared to calmly ask. "Why not? We're married." He was desperate to keep her there. She was reacting like an edgy colt, hesitant to be broken and he was fraught with the need to show her how very gratifying it could be to endure the breaking.

She answered him, with a nervous flit of her eyes as a rush of heat set her face aflame. "Because…it's…" She scrambled for an appropriate word. "because…it's indecent!" The lack of an expanded vocabulary at the moment had holed her into flinging forth the only word she could think of and as soon as she had said it, she regretted it. She knew it sounded foolish.

His eyes snapped fully open and a bemused smile gave way to a highly amused rumble of laughter. "Did you just say—indecent?" His shoulders shook with soft laughter and before she could answer, he leaned in and planted a smooth kiss on the damp flesh of her neck. "By God, I hope it will be!"

"Dave!" She pushed at his chest with one hand and maintained the towel with the other, all to no avail.

"Sorry…sorry, I'm sorry." He chuckled, trying to recover. "I didn't mean to embarrass you." And it was true, he hadn't meant to make her feel any degree of humiliation, but he'd been caught off-guard by her accusations of indecency and he couldn't help but laugh at the irony. If she only knew, how very indecent they had the propensity to be.

"Let me up…" She demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"Wait, no…" he held on, refusing to comply. "Just humor me for a second."

She rolled her eyes. "You've already had your laugh at my expense, remember?"

"Okay, I'll let you go, but you have to do something for me first." He countered, not waiting for her to inquire. "Just sit here for a second, like you used to."

Nancy eyed him suspiciously, comfortable in the assumption that he wouldn't force her to remain there if she pushed the issue; she sat there waiting to hear his plea and remained silent. Her hush, however, did _not_ abate the hot shiver that raced through her center at the feel of his hardness still pressed against her hip, which was now half exposed due to her attempts at escape.

"Just indulge me by pretending for a moment."

That request flooded her mind with all sorts of outrageous images. "Pretend how?" very dubious, her voice was querulous as she arched a brow and stiffened even further.

His eyes searched hers for any indication that she was tempted to bolt and run before he continued. "Let's just pretend…" He said, as he let his hand fall gently to her thigh again. "…for the slimmest second…" His other hand withdrew from around her waist to curve around her hip. "…that you're not repulsed by me." His voice was even, tender and barely more than a whisper.

"I'm not repul—" she was cut off by the soft pressure of his lips on her shoulder. She drew in a swift breath.

"Shhh." The noise floated out on a soft hiss. "We're pretending."

A silken tingle at the back of her neck preempted something pleasant, rather than foreboding and suddenly, listening only to his words, she allowed herself to enjoy them. Highly sensitized, her skin reacted to the feather-light feel of his fingers on her shoulder where his lips had just been.

"Let's just pretend…" He began, not missing the shiver that coursed through her. "That you never lost your memory." His hands pushed the wet coil of curls from her back over the shoulder farthest from him and his gaze traveled over the slender curved, still slightly damp skin of her elegant back. "Let's imagine that you remember what it feels like when I do this." Long fingers trailed from the top of her spine to the bottom and then he spread his palm, touching the dimples above her derriere with the tip of his middle finger and the tip of his thumb.

Her posture instantly improved and she sat up rail straight, but he continued, reluctant to give her the chance to change her mind and flee. "Pretend you remember that you love it when I touch you here…" his other hand, that had seconds before fallen to her thigh, lifted to graze the flesh of her face, four fingers on the side of her cheek while his thumb traveled down the center of her forehead, down the slope of her elegant nose, over her full lips…forcing her eyes to close along with his hand's smooth descent. The action prompted the subconscious lift of her chin. "And here…" He continued, open palmed, letting his fingertips venture over her narrow throat.

With her eyes shut as she listened, she could almost swear she could remember…otherwise why would his touch seem so familiar? Surely she had loved it before…otherwise why did it feel so sinfully sweet, so necessary? Her breathing began to increase and she still felt unsettled, but there was the slowly forming, hot tremble in her gut and so she remained.

"And also here…" The other hand left her back and curved gently around her hip, as he continued to whisper, pleased to see that her eyes were still closed. "We can pretend that you remember how much you love it when I kiss you here…" His lips barely skimmed the flesh of her jaw line and he bit his lip when he heard her draw in a ragged breath. "And here…" he kissed her chin. "And here…" all the while his ever insubordinate hand had risen from her knee on which he'd placed it, to the middle of her thigh.

Why did she need to feel his mouth on hers? Why? Did it even matter? No, it didn't, for there it was, following a whisper, on hers slow and smooth, his lips gently forcing hers apart. And his tongue hot and tasting of merlot on hers, the tender curl of it coaxing her own tongue into a dance. But it was intense, suddenly and then slower, less intense…and then he finally broke free to continue his whispering.

"I'll pretend that you remember what it's like to feel my hand here." He was breathing harder holding in with every ounce of restraint. But he couldn't resist sliding his hand from her thigh to her breast, gently cupping it through the fabric of the towel. Was that a moan he heard? He couldn't swear by it, but he liked to think it was. He felt her lean into his touch and her hand came up to cover the back of his, a pleasurable grimace on her face, eyes still closed. And then to his immeasurable relief, he felt her other arm loop over his shoulder, as though she might wish to hold on. "I want you to remember this…" His hand left her breast to turn her face toward his.

"Why?" She murmured, almost devoid of the ability to speak coherently.

"Because…" He explained in a whisper as his lips claimed hers again. "It's worth remembering." He let her lips toy with his, suddenly reminded of how natural her kiss truly was, how instinctual…how very raw and striking and sensual. And though he wanted to lay her back and take her there, he was certain that a sudden movement might jar her back into reality and scare her off, so he let his hand roam very carefully down to her thigh again allowing his fingertips to slide under the edge of the towel.

The oversensitivity in her flesh had her nipples hardening and she could feel the soft scratch of his whiskers against her much silkier cheek. Startlingly perceptive was she of the hardened thighs beneath her very bare bottom half and more alarming still was the rigid, thick presence of his manhood straining against the prison of his pants. The softest, sweetest pressure began to build between her thighs and it was terrifyingly clear that she needed relief, and she needed it from him. And though she was still fairly sure he would let her leave if she asked, the fiery twinges in her core demanded that she remain and so she did. Satin, were his lips in hers, and so was his hand sliding cautiously upward, past the shelter of the towel.

He kissed her again, and let the pressure of his lips guide her, angling her body only a mere degree backward, where his strong arm supported her. But it was the very rapid, very voluntary parting of her thighs as his hand went higher that had the blood in his body rushing to his head. And so he continued, coerced into the very indecency to which she had inferred and damned gladly. He felt her lips stiffen beneath his and tasted the gasp when his fingertips touched the apex of her femininity. And so with another kiss and a comforting murmur he coaxed her to calm, gliding only the tip of one finger over the hardened nub and then to her entrance where he found it very hot and slightly slick. His breath caught and held, his chest tightening with the all consuming desire to feel more than just his finger there.

Barely cognizant of anything, she let the delightfully invasive motions of his tongue in her mouth continue. But it was the hand that very tenderly teased the core of her that sent the room spinning…or was that just her head. Her breaths came in rapid spurts as his lips were clamped to hers and then he pulled away but let his hand remain, circling, teasing.

He knew he could continue drugging her with his kiss, but it was his intense desire to watch her reaction to his fingers inside of her that had him breaking the delectable kiss. Dave wanted to see the play of expression on her face as her body was wrought with the orgasm, something he loved almost as much as feeling it himself. He knew he would see her eyes darken and glisten and narrow. She would pull the edge of her lip in between her teeth, her back would arch as he held her…She would cry out, he knew, because she always did even if she had to smother her sounds in the flesh of his shoulder, because his daughters were home. He was painfully hard and getting harder as he watched her eyes begin to cloud over, and he knew that the tremble in her body…the one that he felt from inside of her was merely the beginning of a diabolically, delicious explosion.

"Easy…" He soothed when he felt her body tighten in his lap.

She was sure of what she heard, certain of the swell of orgasm building in her body…but that word. The hidden meaning in that word, like a cold blast of water, combined with the sudden fear of not measuring up to her former sexuality, forced her eyes wide open and her body straight up. He was surprised, confused when he saw her sit up, she could see it in his eyes. And she was instantly scrambling off of his lap on liquid-like wobbly legs, shaking like a leaf, one hand on the towel that covered her and the other hand flying to her mouth. "Oh God, I'm sorry…I can't—" She dipped to retrieve her fallen clothing and backed away still trembling.

"I don't understand." Dave's wounded gaze swept over her, curiously assessing. His voice was calm, and smooth, unthreatening, but the steady clench of his jaw as he lifted his gaze to the ceiling and the subconscious contraction of the muscles in his shoulders betrayed him. "If you don't want me, I wish you'd just tell me."

Nancy tilted a remorseful glance at her husband, regretting more than just the fact that she hadn't allowed herself to finish something they both obviously enjoyed. She regretted her doubt and that incendiary presence of the key, which from her vantage point, she had clear view of. There it sat—right where she had carelessly left it—sparkling like a deceptively inanimate chrome object, when in fact it was the incumbent weight of its indefinite nature that was robbing her of a chance to enjoy anything and everything.

But not only that…it had been the word he said. _'Easy…'_ and though she was sure he hadn't meant it the way her clouded, unschooled brain had perceived it, she had been suddenly stricken with the notion that _'easy'_ was what she was. At that very moment, laid back for a stranger. It was no different, even though he was her husband; he was still a big unknown in her memory bereft life. "It's not that, it's—I do want—"

"I know exactly what you want." He sighed heavily, dropping his gaze to the floor as he stood, before pinning her with it. "You wanna be left alone…" His voice suddenly changed from wounded bewilderment to one of tone-wry sarcasm. "And who wouldn't, if they were in your position? Given the choice of walking around questioning everything like a conspiracy theorist or indulging in some of the things that might help you enjoy what you have left…I can certainly see why you'd choose to doubt me."

"That's not what I—"

"I know…" He nodded speaking low, cutting her direct. "It's not what you want." He took a step toward her, swallowing the lump in his throat, disappointed and agitated when she took a step backward…toward the refuge of the bathroom. And then it dawned on him…she was afraid of him. And for the life of him he couldn't determine why and so rather than admit that it saddened him, he spoke in anger. Maybe because it was a knee jerk reaction? No, because to win the battle he _had_ to defend himself…it wouldn't do to admit she'd hurt him. So from his mouth he barked a mocking laugh, shook his head and told her. "Oh, don't worry…I won't put my hands on you…not again."

The damaged expression on her face, and the way she bristled visibly told him that his hateful arrow had found its mark. But he wasn't satisfied…it didn't fortify his defenses the way he thought it would have. Instead he felt a physical ache when he saw her lower lip quiver and witnessed the instant mist of the green eyes he adored. He might have even reached out to her to offer an apology, had not her dejected expression quickly transformed to detached, icy coolness.

"Touché—you win again…" Her voice was so soft, so calm, that he couldn't possibly imagine she'd been hurt if he hadn't been the one to do it himself. And she turned her back on him, her bare back…and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.

He growled his frustration into his hands and then tore them down from his face, scanning the room for something convenient to destroy. He was still hard as a rock, his wife didn't want him and he was quickly developing a reputation as a well-established asshole. An asshole, who was ceased from obliterating anything by the incessant and highly irritating trill of his cell phone.

The vibrating and ringing had the device nearly clattering off of the nightstand and in his fury he snatched it up and whipped it open. "What!" his voice was a near unearthly roar, every muscle in his body tight and constricted with sheer unadulterated aggravation.

Nancy dressed as quickly as she could, concealing the key in her make-up bag. Still shaking with unfulfilled need and verging on tears for what she had done. Could she not have just let herself enjoy his touch? Would it have been so bad to be reminded of what they used to share? She slammed the towel down on the countertop. Of course she couldn't…it would be too easy to just sit back and feel a perfect pleasure for once, since waking with all of her doubt and distrust. Oh, no…she couldn't possibly go through a single interaction with him, without mucking it up beyond repair! And she could hear him from in here, growling like a mistreated animal…and that was her fault too. She stood behind the door, reluctant to open it and go back in there to behold the look on his face, which she knew might be akin to a pre-volcanic eruption. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened to him bark a greeting into the phone…if you could even deem the word _'What!'_ as a greeting.

"No I didn't forget!" She heard him snap at the caller. "I got sidetracked."

What was it that he hadn't forgotten?

"It'd be nice if you people could tell me this shit ahead of time."

From the other side of the door his frustration rang out clear as a church bell and she knew unequivocally that she'd birthed it in him.

"No, I'll be there in a minute." She heard him announce, his feathers still markedly ruffled. "There's definitely nothing going on up here tonight."

Nothing short of being slapped in the face could have hurt so much and without reserve her tears welled up, spilling over her long black lashes and onto her cheeks. And though she could not stop those, she wouldn't cry; not out loud…she refused to.

He tugged his shirt back on, smoothed a wrinkle from the leg of his pants and jammed his phone into his pocket. "I'll be back late." He announced to the locked bathroom door.

"Good-night." She flung the trembling remark at his unseen figure and heard the sound of keys scraping against wood, seconds before the door of the suite slammed with ear-splitting force.

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He moved forward with unsure and unsteady steps, through the darkened hall wishing his eyes would adjust to the lack of light. He stealthily poked his head around the corner, but it was no use, he couldn't see anything anyhow. A swift peek into the nearest room, and he clicked on the flashlight, making certain that there was no obstruction on the floor before he entered. He then shut the light off and tip-toed forward, feeling blindly in the abysmal dark for a human target.

None, not in this room and so he backed out, reemerging in the hall in time for a flicker of lightning to illuminate the 5'10" silhouette of Dave Batista's eldest daughter who was also tip-toeing through the dark, headed for home base.

"Ah Ha!" He roared, aiming the flashlight at her and snapping it on, trapping Vanessa in a bright beam of light. "You're caught, Vanessa."

"Crap!" Vanessa's shoulders slumped and she laughed, having been found twice already since the beginning of the hide and seek game.

"Hit the couch loser!" Randy taunted reminding her that she was 'out' and continued his trek through the darkened house in search of Audrey who was a masterful hider and Barren who hadn't emerged since the beginning of the game. He was almost positive she was switching hiding places the entire time he was searching and though doing so was not against the rules, he didn't quite deem it fair and was bent on punishing her accordingly as soon as he found her.

Audrey crouched down low in the corner of her father's closet, right behind his suit jackets, her tiny little body fully concealed by them. Now if only she could stop the giggle from erupting as she heard someone's foot steps entering the Master Bedroom. She knew she had to try very hard or else she would be caught.

"Audrey?" She heard Randy's deep baritone echo through the cavernous room. "I know you're in here…"

Playing hide and seek in the dark and scary rain storm was immensely thrilling and it made her giggle and wiggle her hands excitedly, as she sat behind the massive coats. Audrey wanted to shout out that Randy didn't either know that she was in here, but that he was fibbing like her Daddy did just to try and get her to give herself up. And Audrey found it funny that he would use that old silly trick, because she was the greatest hider ever and that trick was _never_ gonna work! Instead of hollering out her glory, She held on tight to her _'Marvin Magician Special Edition'_ flashlight, making sure that she didn't accidentally click it on, then she scrunched her eyes closed and buried her softly tittering face in the silk sleeve of one of her father's suit coats.

Barren acted fast. She had hidden in the massive studio, the moment Randy had begun to count. But hiding was not exactly what she had in mind. Instead, she lifted the flashlight and illuminated the expansive common area of the lower floor. Relieved, since it appeared that Max must have cleaned it up, she rounded immediately on the drafting table, glancing through the small caddy next to it. Nothing in there but charcoal pencils, erasers, rulers, compasses and the like, so she let her search guide her to the kitchen area and rifled quickly though every drawer within reach. It wasn't a fully equipped kitchen and so the search was swift but futile.

She continued digging through miscellaneous spaces and soon her heart was thumping wildly when she turned the corner, preparing to ascend the staircase and the beam from her flashlight glinted off of a rack of keys hanging on the wall by the studio's inner garage door. In a split second, she was at the rack, trembling fingers scanning every single key and then cursing when she realized that every key on the rack was politely labeled with the appropriate familial uses. Not even one of them was her key.

Anger, frustration and a maddening sense of urgency had her tempted to rip the rack off of the wall, but instead she returned to the task of searching the studio. She let her swift and sure steps carry her over to the finely polished, very contemporary desk that she was sure belonged to Nancy. That assurance was confirmed when she spied a photo on top of the desk in which Dave was affording his wife a piggy back ride, next to a tourist sign that detailed the population of Selkirk, Manitoba. Barren's hand found the handle to the drawer and she slid it open running her fingers through it, illuminating the inside with the angling of the flashlight's beam.

"Find what you're lookin' for?"

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest and she whirled around to find herself face to face with Max Hadaway. "I didn't know you were in here." She swallowed and closed the drawer.

"I know." He affirmed, his jaw stiff and his brow creasing.

"We were playing hide and seek—and…" Barren fumbled for an excuse fitting of her crime, but her lie fizzled as quickly as she had begun it.

"I doubt you're gonna find someone in that drawer." Max's voice was dry and she felt threatened by him. "Why don't you come clean and just return whatever it was you stole."

She shook her head, frantically aware of how perilously close she was to being found out. "Max, I didn't take anything, I swear."

He eyed her directly and then his gaze swept over the desk and up to her outstretched hands. "Does Nancy know you're prone to digging through her things?"

"I wasn't…" Barren bit off her statement. "I-I was looking for a phone book so that I could call out for pizza after the game's finished.

"I see." He pursed his lips and giving an exaggerated nod, he asked. "So you mean the Chinese take-out wasn't enough for you?" Max knew he had her dead to rights when her face went pallid. He'd only just moments ago, come through the studio's garage entrance, but he'd seen the take out cartons on the table in the condo when he'd sloshed through the front yard to peek in the living room windows. He'd only done so, upon seeing shadowy figures creeping through the darkened first floor. Sadly it was one of the first things he ever noticed in any given setting; food…And so Max had come silently through the studio, prepared to launch a physical assault on whoever was robbing his best friend's home while she was gone. And that's when he'd stumbled upon Barren snooping through the desk.

"You got me." She said softly, a slow smile creeping to her lips.

"I know." Max told her and then lifted his cell phone from the deep pocket of his bright yellow parka. "I had my doubts about you…now Nancy probably should know too."

Fear knifed through her. She had to stop him before he gave her away and ruined her chances to claim the key. "What? You gonna call her? Rat me out?" Barren smirked. "Go ahead…" She taunted and her dare gave him pause.

He nodded. "Yep, that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"Sure you are."

"You don't think I will?" Max asked, holding the tiny cell phone in between his fingers.

"Oh, I'm sure you will." Barren told him, recovering a sense of arrogant nonchalance. "I just think you ought to mull it over before you make a fool out of yourself."

He stood firm, but didn't dial, preferring to wait and let her finish.

And in short order she made herself fully transparent. "Think about it, Max." She shifted her stance to a more resolute pose. "Who's she gonna believe? You or me?"

He gawked at her as if he couldn't believe what he had heard. "I'm her best friend." He announced with a scoff. "She'd believe me." Though he'd said it he suddenly wasn't sure.

"Is that right?" She laughed. "You think she's gonna believe you? She can't even remember who you _are_. Me, on the other hand…she knows me; she trusts me…we spend time together. In fact we've developed a pretty strong bond."

"I'll call Dave." Max fumbled, realizing suddenly that she was right. Nancy didn't remember him. He stood a snowball's chance in hell of getting her to believe him over Barren.

"Okay and what do you think he'll say?" She pointed out. "You think he holds you in high esteem or something? Who did he leave his children with, Max, huh?" She watched him avert his gaze, suddenly rendered speechless by her words. "I think that says everything."

And it did. That very jagged truth cut Max to the bone. It was true, because neither Dave nor Nancy had even suggested the prospect of him house-sitting. If he was such a great friend, then why hadn't they even asked him?

Barren sensed his doubt and felt his sorrow and that's when she knew, as much as she hated to, that she had to go in for the kill. "Go ahead, Max…you dial her cell, Dave's cell…tell them everything you know. I'll just tell them you're a liar."

Max shot her a pitiable glare, but made no move to dial the number. "We're not through, here." He warned, fighting to hold on to the last shred of his dignity. "This isn't over."

Barren clenched her jaw, and then smiled, cutting him with a derisive glare. "We're through…and yes, this is over." She watched him turn to go, but before his hand grasped the doorknob, he spun slowly back around.

"She's gonna get her memory back someday, you realize that, right?" He reminded her.

Barren nodded and then sealed his doubt in blood. "Yep, and by then, who knows what she'll have decided to do with you."

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Randy skulked around the corner, toward the studio, knowing that if anyone were in there it would most probably be Barren, simply due to the fact that most little kids were afraid of big darkened spaces. And the studio was just that…a yawning abysmal black hole. He met with the latch and swung the door open, clicking on the flashlight for a split second and then shutting it off. He closed the door behind himself and took another step into the studio when he felt a firm hand smack his backside. It startled him causing him to jump; he almost shouted in his surprise, but he turned swiftly, nearly stumbling over a breathless Barren.

"Jesus!" He said, laughing nervously. "You're supposed to be hiding."

"I like being found much better." She rose up on her toes pressing her lips to his and then gripping the back of his neck, she forcefully pulled him backward with her. Their bodies met the thick wooden door with a thump and her hands were instantly under the hem of his shirt, lifting it up so her fingers could explore the skin of his chest.

He was nearly drowning in her kiss and suddenly his brain was spinning, trying desperately to remember what it was he had come in here for. Oh, yes…her…it had been her. He fought with the buckle of his belt trying to keep it latched as she fought just as furiously to release it. "Stop!" he hissed. "There are kids here…"

Her throaty laugh tickled his insides and she reached down to cup his already growing bulge, through the fabric of his jeans. "You don't want me to stop." Barren told him.

"No—I don't, but—we can't do this here!" He panicked, pushing at her eager hands as if protecting his virtue were his top priority.

She laughed again, her lips against the hot flesh of his throat. "I know we can't—I just wanted to see how scared you'd get if I suggested it."

He bit his lower lip and growled at her. "Hit the couch, Barren. You've been found too." He swatted her hard on the bottom, thoroughly enjoying the resounding 'pop' as it echoed through the cavernous studio.

"Yes Master." She bowed low, and then after an inflated curtsy, she turned to retreat into the townhouse.

"Yeah, you just remember that." Randy muttered a response and headed for the stairs to the second floor in search of Audrey. He had a fairly good idea of where she was. And though kids were an enigma to him, he knew that there were certain things about them not prone to change, intrinsic habits that kids had…and they never deviated from them. Hide and seek was one thing, but hide and seek in a lightning storm? Audrey was a pretty unusual kid, but she was still a kid; and most kids were afraid of storms. Kids who were afraid of storms usually went to the place they felt the safest.

He crossed the landing and entered the Master Bedroom once more, knowing where she would be. Audrey was a Daddy's girl…Dave was her hero, her protector and she was completely convinced he was Superman. Her safe place would no doubt be the one place where she felt the presence of her father; his closet. Randy opened the double doors in one careful move and then he entered the massive closet. He chose to be fair and not turn on the flashlight, just to give her a sporting chance…a head start to run for home base. He stepped in front of the rows of neatly hung clothing and pretended to shuffle through the shirts on the higher bar, when he was certain he heard a giggle.

"Someone in here?" He feigned curiosity and stepped one leg out to the side, widening his stance and craning his neck as though he were searching for her in the upper shelves, where she couldn't possibly be.

The giggle became a rustle of expensive fabric, the scrape of a hanger and then the brushing of something on the carpet below him. He looked down in time to see her tiny shadow disappear between his long legs, securely attached to the riotous giggle. "Get back here!" Randy hollered, spinning around, catching only the barest glimpse of her ponytail bouncing as she skidded around the doorway, hell bent for leather, her _'Marvin Magician Special Edition'_ flashlight casting a bobbing slash of yellow light on the floor in front of her.

Randy went after her, following the bouncing beam and the sound of her feet thumping on the floor. He couldn't help but laugh when he realized she'd outsmarted him and still he chased her, giving her the slimmest chance for escape as her giggles and breathless squeals floated back toward him.

She skittered toward the stairwell and Randy noticed that Barren flicked on the living room light to aid Audrey's flight. "Run, run, run, Audrey!" Both she and Vanessa jumped up and down cheering her on. "Hurry! Hurry!"

Audrey never looked back, instead she skipped the last three steps, jumping and landing on the floor, both feet steady, she tore around the corner, skidded past the back side of the sofa and launched herself into Vanessa's embrace, a mass of heavy breathing laughter overtook her as both girls landed on the couch.

"I'm safe!!" Audrey announced, sighing and sagging into the cushions.

Randy pretended annoyance at having been thwarted. "That close, kid." He held his thumb and index finger up indicating she had escaped by the skin of her teeth.

Audrey matched his arrogant smirk and stood up, perching her hands on her hips. She crooked her thumb over her shoulder and in her very exuberant childlike tone, she ordered. "Hit the couch, Loser!"

Randy's face split in half with a highly amused grin and then he pasted on his most dangerous, wrestling promo face and lunged toward her.

She squealed in fright and jumped behind Barren for safety, dissolving in a fit of laughter.

"Out of the way woman!" He ordered. "I'm gonna skin that kid!"

Barren matched his dangerous glare. "Oh no you're not, mister." She held her arms out to shield any attempt on his part to sidle past her.

Vanessa and Audrey took the distraction as an opportunity to head for the kitchen and the quart of ice-cream that they knew was nestled in the shelf of the freezer door, leaving Barren to fend for herself.

Randy arched his brow. "Looks like your soldiers took off." He stepped forward and planted a very soft kiss on the bridge of her nose.

"Excuse me??? Yuckkk!" Audrey stuck her head around the corner, wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes to chastise the pair.

Both Randy and Barren exchanged smiles and with lightning fast reflexes, Randy growled and snatched Audrey up over his shoulder. "You're trouble! You know that?" He informed her, amidst her squeals and giggles and then he spun her down landing her in a pretend back-breaker.

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Trouble. That's what she was, he decided ruefully. No, that's _not_ what she was, no matter how badly he tried to convince himself that his dissatisfaction was all her fault, he simply couldn't. Dave had been called down to the hotel's conference room for a pre pay-per-view script meeting, something that wasn't the norm. Most of the time, spots were planned days ahead, with minor changes taking place a couple of hours prior to shooting. Johnny Ace and Dibiase had called the meeting to establish consonance throughout the storylines and to reassure some of the more doubtful stars that there was not about to be another firing rampage as rumors had recently threatened.

The meeting was over and Dave was prepared to venture back upstairs when he passed the hotel bar and decided to go in for a drink. Now normally it wasn't his habit to imbibe for the purpose of drowning his sorrows, but seeing Chris Benoit at a table in the bar, chatting with Rey Mysterio and polishing off a bucket of hot-wings, had served as a decent excuse to enter and so he had. And now, two hours later, his friends were gone, his watch was boasting of midnight and he was nursing his fifth drink, all while contemplating what to do with his wife.

It had never been his intention to embarrass her and certainly not to make her feel uncomfortable, but it seemed like lately _that_ was all he seemed to be able to do. Dave's battle plan was failing miserably, too. And he found himself frowning when he contemplated the gravity of it. Hope against hope had left him believing that all he had to do was touch her, tease her and she would take him in with open arms. He was foolish to have thought that he could entice her into sex and build on that alone.

He shook his head, truly contrite for having intentionally hurt her feelings. He could effortlessly recall her tearful expression and trembling lower lip and it troubled him, and even now as he stood leaned against the bar, with a Malibu and club in his hand, he could imagine her. She was probably curled in a ball on the bed under the sheet, lying on her side with her fist tucked under her chin. He didn't want to imagine that she might have cried herself to sleep…it worried him to think of it. And yet still he could not let go of his anger over the whole situation, the constant rejection. Dave knew he had to find a way to regain the trust he'd done nothing to lose, and yet at the same time he found the prospect of trying, daunting in the very least.

Swallowing another sip, he tossed the offending lime down onto his napkin and pondered his next move, but before he could put together the specifics of the design, he felt a very solid _something_ slam into his back, causing him to lurch forward, allowing a substantial amount of liquor to slosh from his glass onto the front of his shirt. Dave set the glass down with an audible 'thunk' and turned to face the interloper, preparing for what, he didn't know.

Dave's twist put him eye-level to the very fuzzy 'fro' of a very inebriated Carlito, who was weaving on unsteady feet. "Whoa…careful…" Dave said, reaching out to steady the young man, when he saw him pitch forward as though he might fall. "You alright?"

"Oh…I'm sorry, Big Dave." His accent was greatly slurred and he cast a narrow-eyed grin, slapping a palm on Dave's chest. "Oh thank God it's only you."

Dave appeared amused as he assessed Carlito's cup shod appearance. The normally wide afro that topped the young man's head was now sickly unsymmetrical, his shirt was half unbuttoned and his khaki-colored, silk pants bore a wet mark the size of a softball on the thigh. He also had what appeared to be a suction mark on the skin at the juncture of his shoulder and neck and a distinct smear of shimmering pink lipstick colored his upper sleeve. "You're not driving are you?"

"Unnhh, uh." Carlito shook his head. "But I need someone to save me."

Dave shook his head, again reaching out to steady the weaving wrestler.

"Do you see those girls?" Carlito pointed a wobbling hand toward a pair of women, who upon seeing who Carlito was with, began to wave and shoot coy smiles in Dave's direction.

"Yep." Dave said on a dreadful sigh. This was without a doubt the last thing he needed.

"Well…you see…" He slurred. "They both wanna fuck me." Carlito's voice was far louder than it needed to be and his informative remark drew the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

"Shhh." Dave motioned with one hand for him to lower his voice, but it didn't work.

"And the thing is…" Carlito continued, heedless of the fool he appeared to be. "I wanna fuck them too…both of them." He laughed lazily, a snort slipping out as he did so.

Dave sighed, annoyed and then glanced nervously at the two women who had begun to eye him also. "Dammit."

"But I don't have any condoms and so they're out of luck, unless of course you have one that I can borrow."

Dave's lips thinned into a tight line and his face contorted into a mask of sheer irritation, but before he could respond to Carlito, who was currently sagging against Dave as if he'd fall without the support, he spied with much relief, an approaching Gregory Helms.

It was apparent that Gregory had been looking for Carlito, because he advanced with determined strides to take him off of Dave's hands. "Shit man, I'm sorry." Helms shook his head, only halfway smiling. "Can't even take a piss that I don't turn around and wind up havin' to track his ass down."

Dave held the young man up as Gregory looped Carlito's arm over his shoulder and prepared to walk him out of the bar.

"I'd stick around, but…" Gregory tilted his head toward the intoxicated Carlito.

"We'll catch up another time." Dave told him, flooded with gratitude to have the young man being whisked away. But there were still the women across the bar, who seemed less disappointed with Carlito's exodus and more interested in Dave. He lifted his left hand and made a very subtle show of adjusting his wedding band…that usually seemed to do the trick, but not tonight, for the apparent leader of the duo merely smiled and lifted her own hand showing off a large solitaire. She didn't seem to take the institution of matrimony very seriously and it was doubtful that she would be dissuaded, so he drained his drink and tossed a bill to the bartender. "Keep it."

The bartender nodded as Dave exited the bar, bound for the elevators. He shook his head thinking of Carlito's drunken honesty. Alcohol, it was truth serum if you had too much of it…and then he was struck with an idea, a very viable solution to the problem of breaking down his wife's defenses. The door of the elevator closed behind him and he smiled, nodding. Drunken confessions, usually brought forth a sober confession…it was absolute genius. He could go right into that bedroom, confess the complete unadulterated truth about what he'd planned, how he'd felt…the things he wanted to do to her and suffer absolutely zero ramifications! If she didn't like it, he could simply blame it on the alcohol and know that she was still fully aware of how he felt. The other side of the coin presented the possibility that his confession would prompt her to defend her actions and declare how _she_ felt. It was plausible, especially if she was timid and thought that he might not remember all she'd said when he sobered up.

It was an unexpected blessing that Carlito had slammed into him causing his drink to spill down the front of his shirt, it only added to his charade, and now he was mere steps away from his door, ready to confess all to his wife.


	25. Chapter 24

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 24

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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Beauty is a form of genius—is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation.

It is of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark water of that silver shell we call the moon.

- Oscar Wilde.

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He paused in front of the doorway, for the span of a moment, drawing in a deep breath and collecting his disorderly thoughts. Muscular and veined hands curled around the lever and he inserted the keycard; his feet shuffled him inside…mind and body, both prepared to cooperate with his plan. Dave Batista didn't take any great pains to open the door quietly. Drunk people didn't usually _do_ things quietly…and he was supposed to be drunk. And though the comical truth of the matter _was_, that he was _not_ intoxicated…he was in fact blessedly anesthetized. Not so deadened however, that he couldn't remember the unrestrained way in which he loved her or how badly her rejections stung his pride…and certainly, _not_ so numb that he wasn't able to recall the tactical nature of the battle to which he and she were engaged. In truth, he wasn't even boasting a buzz; the only thing that the liquor had done for him was to simply shave the hard edge off of his odious temper and make him fit for human contact.

A soft shaft of light beaming from the floor lamp beside the sofa, pushed shadows into the corners and made his purposely lumbering movement through the room passable. Knowing undoubtedly that his wife had left the light on for him, warmed his heart, making him believe that she'd done it out of concern for him, but then the inner animal had him convinced she was probably lying in wait, and had merely left the lamp on so she wouldn't fall victim to her own booby traps. He glanced askance, looking for the tell-tale signs that would indicate a treacherous practical joke in hiding and then decided that he was just letting his already guilt ridden imagination run away with him. Dave kicked his shoes off, uncaring when they went flying noisily in two completely different directions. Drunk people didn't care about the whereabouts of their shoes…and he—was supposed to be drunk.

Dave had been correct when he'd imagined his wife might be sleeping, but only not in his assumption of how, for she was far from curled in a ball on her side, sticking to her edge of the large bed as he'd envisioned. In fact, her sleeping position brought on the notion that she was rather hot and very much a bed hog. Flat on her back, one arm above her head, the other far out to her side, and yet she appeared still small when surrounded by the huge bed. The covers had long been cast off and were bunched up into little more than a cotton roll at her feet, her satin pants were askew, one pant leg fairly normal and the other scrunched up to the knee. A purple tank top had risen in her slumber so that her bellybutton was fully visible, and the light from the living area only glimmered off of the skin of her belly, taught and smooth and round. He let a lazy grin form on his lips and was of the mind he should adjust the in-room thermostat so she would be more comfortable, but drunk people didn't adjust thermostats. And he was supposed to be drunk.

A sudden husbandly regret knifed through him at the thought of waking her, but how else was he supposed to institute a heartfelt, inebriated confession if she weren't awake to hear it? As much as he hated to do it, knowing that she needed her sleep, now was the time. Dave eyeballed her peacefully sleeping figure, jingled the loose change in his pocket and when that didn't serve to rouse her, he gripped the entire handful and tossed it carelessly onto the dresser. Quarters, nickels, dimes; you name it, went bouncing in all directions just as his shoes had only seconds earlier. Not stopping there, he dropped his keys with a damnable clatter on top of what was left of the pile of change. _'Well that did it.'_ He mused and smiled inwardly, when he heard her body shuffle against the sheet.

A gentle, barely audible murmur drifted to his ears and he peeked over his shoulder, noticing that though her eyes remained closed and she had curled the pillow upward over her own ears, to shut him and his noise out. Dave was dangerously close to laughing out loud…and since he knew that drunk people usually did so—he did. She remained curled up with the pillow over her head and as adorably defenseless as she was, Dave determined that now was the time to up his arsenal. His cell phone in his hand illuminated another idea of how to awaken her fully, and so he began to pretend toying with the ringer. All different types and tunes and levels of volume, came trickling out of his phone, until it was literally screaming in his hand. A humored glance over his shoulder told him that she'd tugged the pillow down from her head and in her sleepy state, began to lash out a delicate arm in search of the alarm clock; apparently thinking that _it_ was the source of the clamor.

Well, he'd tried all manner of noise and it hadn't served to awaken her completely and so, it was time for the big guns…Dave knew something that Nancy did not. And he knew it, because _he_ had his memory and she didn't have hers. And what Dave Batista knew, through an extended time of living and traveling with his wife was that while a lamp in another room would not present a bother, the lamp on the bedside table, less than three feet from her sleeping face _would_. Armed with the knowledge that there were two things that Nancy truly hated—one being; something cold meeting with her skin by surprise, and secondly, a bright light in her face when she sought sleep—he crossed the room without quieting his steps and snapped the lamp on.

The harsh stream of light slammed into her sleeping countenance and she squinted her eyes, her face contorting as she let out a sigh that resembled more of a huff. Knowing from experience what she would do next, Dave discreetly pulled the extra pillow far enough out of her reach so as to make her thrash in her search for it. And thrash she did. Until finally she gave up on the search for something with which to cover her face and reluctantly and a bit peevishly reemerged from the cocoon of her sleep.

Groggy and incoherent, she pushed herself up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, allowing her feet to swing over the edge. Eyes still closed, she let a whimper of injustice pass her lips, much like a child woken unwillingly on an early school morning and then she fought with great difficulty to lift the heavy lids and discover who had awakened her. In that short amount of time, Dave un-tucked one half of his shirt and adopted what he assumed was an acceptably drunken expression. Formerly bothered by the fact that late hours always tended to lend a gravely tone to his already deep voice, he was just slightly thankful for it now…it added to his character.

"Oh, you're up." He observed with a mellow nonchalance. His voice cracked, with the tiniest over-embellishment when he spoke.

Another heavy sigh and her eyes dragged open as if they'd been welded shut. One glance at him and she blinked and then appeared wearily curious. "You're drunk." Her voice was a rasp.

Her assessment brought forth a low chuckle and then he remembered he was in a kayfabe of sorts and lifted one unsteady hand in the air, his thumb and forefinger an inch apart and announced. "Nope, not drunk…just a bit tipsy."

Nancy groused, shaking her head and curling her lip up in contempt. "Liar…you're foxed." She said softly and then she lay on her side again, content to go back to sleep.

"I'm not fucked." He announced, pretending that he'd misunderstood her completely, allowing a slight slur to wind it's way through his comment.

She huffed and explained. "I didn't say _that_, I said foxed…you know, drunk? Three sheets to the wind?"

Again he sought to bait her. "I really would be fucked if I shit in the wind, you know I think that's probably illegal in some states—" He wasn't normally so talkative, nor was he given to complete flat humor, but drunk people were and so he needed to be.

Nancy's groan of irritation cut him off and she whipped the covers away in her frustration, sitting up after only a minor struggle with the cumbersome frontload of her stomach and speared him with a truly livid, sleep-deprived glare. "Did you wake me up by accident, or was it an on purpose kinda thing, meant to torment me for what I did earlier?"

In his feigned drunken state he laughed, sliding his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders and letting it fall where he stood. He'd only ever seen his wife bear such a disgusted expression, one other time in all the time he'd known her and that was when she'd found a bottle of red nail polish broken and spilled in her luggage. It bordered on adorable, the pinched expression that changed from irritation, to curiosity and then to unchecked frustration. Finally he spoke. "I wanted to apologize to you." He let his struggle with the belt buckle lend to his drunken appearance.

"It couldn't wait 'til morning?" Her voice was lackluster and her face still bore a tempestuous scowl.

He watched her during a long silence, as her eyelids continued to droop of their own accord, warning him of the possibility that she might ignore him altogether and fall right back to sleep. Giving up on the buckle, he took a few purposely unstable steps in her direction when he saw that she was distracted by the glass of water on the night table, for which she had just reached. He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of her as she lifted the glass to her lips.

She was startled when she felt his hands on either side of her thighs, indicating that he had scooted up and was now positioned between her knees. The smallest dribble of water fell from her lips to land on his face when he blinked up at her with an intoxicated expression. She swallowed the sip when he laughed softly and then she mumbled. "Sorry."

"I'm the one apologizing, remember?" He asked, leaning forward and laying his head on the mound of her stomach, knowing that if he faced her while he spoke she would quickly catch on to the fact that he wasn't actually drunk.

Awkwardly she held the glass of water and sat with her legs on either side of his wide torso, his arms snaking around from her thighs, fingers lacing together at the small of her back. "Dave, you—"

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this." He admitted and she could feel his voice rumble against the flesh of her belly. "It wasn't supposed to be torture—but it is."

"Thanks a lot." Her wry response indicated that she was taken aback by the notion that she was a veritable tormentor.

"Or maybe it was…I mean—I meant for it to be torture for you." He sighed heavily. What was intended to be a simple, feigned, drunken confession, interwoven with enough of the truth to get her talking was swiftly becoming the pure, unadulterated truth. Dave hadn't fully anticipated that he would be hit with a myriad of emotions while exacting his gentle revenge on her, but her unresisting silence was presenting no distraction and he could feel those emotions effusively. "I only brought you here to taunt you…to try to prove to myself that I could still make you want me." His thumbs on her lower back made soft back and forth motions.

Well, the truth was certainly raw and brash. The trip had been meant as a tool of seduction…he'd had an ulterior motive all along. Nancy frowned, unable to move away from him, she was forced to hear him out, whether she liked what she heard or not. It hadn't been enough for him to tease her on the home front; he had to drag her out of town where she had no refuge from his advances.

"But it backfired on me…because it's torture for _me—_not you." His face was buried against her belly. "All day today…driving me mad, just watching you, wishing you wanted me to touch you or hold you…I was going nuts remembering making love to you…and then tonight at dinner I had this big idiotic plan. I was going to somehow make you want to fall into bed with me…and I failed, miserably." He let out a thick breath and his hold tightened slightly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of letting her loose…and truth be told, he couldn't.

"Maybe we should talk about this when you're sober." The confession of how he felt, what he planned, the extent of his need for her, suddenly terrified her and she wasn't sure she could deal with it. What if he said he loved her and required a response?

But he ignored her suggestion and continued. "And I actually thought I was doing okay…that I was going to be able to resist it, until I saw you in that towel…water dripping down your neck and then felt you in my lap…It's hard, when you want someone that doesn't want to have anything to do with you." Now that he'd said what he truly wanted her to know, he decided that if he said much more, she might figure out his charade.

"It's not that I—" Nancy bit off her comment, letting out a smooth breath. She bit the corner of her lip, not knowing exactly how she should react to hearing how he felt. She downed the rest of the water in the glass and laid it on the bed behind her since his embrace had her trapped and unable to reach the night table. "I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea…" her voice floated out softly.

'_This is it.'_ He thought to himself. _'This is where it happens.'_

"It's just that I'm not even sure how _I'm_ supposed to feel, much less how you are…But that's not really your fault and if I was being completely fair I'd stop treating you like it is." Nancy waited for any sign from him that he agreed and was confronted only with the soft bark of a snore. He was asleep! Her lips curved into a smile as a trembling sigh of relief fluttered past them. There was probably no harm in finishing her confession, seeing as he couldn't hear it anyhow, there was little chance of him laughing or educing some sickly-sexual nuance from anything she said. Or perhaps she could simply push him off into the floor and let him sleep there until the morning. She laughed now, softly at the image the idea produced and without thinking she placed one hand on the bulk of his muscular shoulder, as the other found a home in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

"All of the pictures I look at say we love each other. Everything in that house tells me that we were really striving for something as a team and sometimes…I even think I can feel it even though I can't remember it…You've tried everything you know to make me feel at home and I just keep mistrusting you." She sucked in a slow deep breath, but it didn't help push away the niggling desire to tell him about the key, to ask him about its purpose. _'Tell him!'_ The voice inside her prompted fiercely, but she held back. "And I know you think that I don't want you…that I don't find you attractive, o-or that I didn't enjoy what happened this afternoon but that's—not true…" She was reaching for nonchalance as she spoke, but her heart was tapping swiftly and the confession resounding in her own ears seemed slightly erotic. Finding him attractive had _never_ been the problem…even in his most dressed-down state there was no denying the raw and natural masculinity that made up his character, or the passive sensuality, the underlying, yet rampant strength. She couldn't discount the appealing placidness that peeked through his stoic exterior when he was dealing with his children; she couldn't dispel the image of tender protectiveness where his family and privacy were concerned, tenderness she knew that he would express with the child they had made together. No, he wasn't the problem—_she_ was.

Her fingers were caressing his neck absently as she spoke and toyed with his hair and it was all he could do to stay put and continue the charade. "I wanted to finish, I mean t-to let you…finish…oh Good Lord, how embarrassing is this?" He heard her say.

"I guess I sort of felt that if I let myself enjoy it, if I let it get out of hand, that in some really silly way it would mean that I'm a whore…It's really no different than having sex with a stranger, even if the stranger lives with you and doesn't pose a threat…it's like 'doing' your roommate, maybe…I don't know." A tremor of shame had crept into her voice. "Maybe I'm even a little afraid that if I do let you…if we do—you know, then I won't remember how I did things before, and it won't be…or you won't enjoy—oh, hell…" She was exasperated and unsure if she should even continue.

Dave, on the other hand was absolutely floored. He had never really looked at it that way before, he'd just assumed that her rejection of him was because she had somehow fallen out of love with him, or that she hadn't really wanted him to begin with…even so he should have known better. He could understand how someone might feel intimidated by a complete lack of memory, but it didn't compare to the complete loss of any remembrances of an intimate past. It was something like a surgeon attempting heart surgery, after forgetting everything he'd learned…no wonder she felt as if she'd be inept.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel like you aren't appealing, because you are…without a doubt, you are." Nancy told him, her hand having ventured over the muscles of his upper back, tracing the lines and blurred edges of the tattoo there, as she spoke.

He resisted the impulse to succumb to a hot shiver at the feel of her touch and instead swallowed thickly, listening as she continued.

"I was sure that I was losing my _own_ mind tonight at dinner because every time I looked at you, I kept having these visions of things I think we've done…things I know I…liked." Nancy waited, expecting to hear him snore again, but he was peacefully silent. "I know I'll like them again…I just need to trust you more I guess…maybe I need a little time. I just wish you could understand that it's not because of you…I do—want you."

It was all he needed to know. To hear it from her lips was as good as a bill signed in ink by the President. Just the admission that she didn't find him appalling boosted his self esteem more than anything else could have. And now that his confession had worked like a charm, he knew he had won the battle and he might as well let her know it too.

"Well, thank God for that…" Dave announced. "I was beginning to think I'd lost my touch." His voice suddenly clear, held no hint that he was drunk or had ever been; he rose up, slid an open palm over her stomach and then stood to his full height and stretched, concealing an overconfident smile as it tickled his lips.

Nancy's mouth flew open when she heard the tenor of his lucid voice, watched his fluid, decisive movements. There was no trace of the lumbering drunkenness he'd exhibited mere moments ago. She observed him as he very easily finished unbuckling the belt, whipping it out of the belt loops sliding it with perfect grace over the back of the chair, followed by the shirt which he scooped up off of the floor and folded neatly. "You—You were awake?" Her voice was a shocked squawk.

He could swear that her face went from its natural dewy olive to ashen, to crimson in a matter of only seconds and her normally crystalline jade eyes, glimmered like a molten peridot. "Yes Ma'am." He wet his lower lip and straightened the pile of loose and scattered change.

Nancy's eyes narrowed to little more than slits and she puckered her lips preparing for a verbal blast befitting his treachery, but the lack of appropriate words, fizzled her attempt before it even got off the ground. Seconds—only a few ticked by and she realized _exactly_ what he'd done…not that she was truly ungrateful for his confession, because she was certainly better off informed of his intent and even a bit flattered to know he actually wanted her—it was simply that she hadn't quite been ready to furnish him with her own. The belief that he had been asleep and none the wiser had given her a modicum of reassurance that she was safe in letting it out, getting it off of her chest—and so she had. And now he _knew_, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she wanted him…because he'd heard it from her very own mouth. "You faked drunk, just to get me to let my guard down, didn't you?"

"Is that what that was?" His head whirled around, his eyes twinkling conspiratorially as his lips twitched with barely concealed mirth. He stacked his cell phone neatly next to his wallet.

A forceful thump of her palm against the pillow as she fluffed it up caught his attention. Nancy shook her head incredulously as a disgusted hiss slid from her mouth. She didn't know whether to throw the pillow at him, or hide beneath it in her humiliation. "You live to keep me guessing, don't you?"

He glanced down his nose at her, and let the irrepressible smile lift the corners of his mouth as he addressed her. "See it worked, you're starting to remember already."

"How noble of you to resort to the lowest measure just to get a confession out of me." Nancy couldn't resist a grin, even though she thought his stratagem to be very unsporting. "Even to the point of _faking_ your own soul-deep confession." She shook her head.

Despite the softness of his smile, his eyes locked with hers, darkening visibly. "I may have fibbed about being drunk, but everything I said was the truth."

A pause, maybe only a second or two, but it felt like forever to her. She cleared her throat, suddenly dry and averted her gaze intent on breaking the heated cord created by his intense searching stare. "You still don't play by the rules." She ignored the sizzling tingle between her thighs.

"Who said there _were_ rules?" He inquired following it with a chuckle as he watched her stand and adjust her shirt. "I don't remember ever establishing any."

Glaring wryly, she rounded the bed, shuffling past him to place the empty glass on the counter in the bathroom. "Every battle has its own set of rules…or its _supposed_ to." She pointed out, not bothering to conceal her sarcasm.

Dave flopped down onto the bed, commandeering the pillow she'd just fluffed. "Just face it…" He bragged. "I'm the King in the Battle of the Sexes…and it drives you nuts."

She was certain his boastful comment was intended only as a retort to enforce his current position as the victor. She watched as he smiled rakishly and laced his fingers together behind his head, bare-chested with his pants unzipped, giving her a very dangerous view of the dip in the muscles above his hips, the vein that ran from just beneath his right abdominal muscle, disappearing beneath his waist band…Another sensuous twinge in her belly caught her attention; Tearing her gaze loose from him, Nancy muttered and nodded, as if contemplating his statement. "King, huh?"

"Yep." A nod from her husband; another smug lopsided grin.

Nancy stood at the foot of the bed, legs slightly apart, her arms crossed just above her belly, with the lamplight casting a glow on her face. Dave could very clearly make out the smile as it spread slowly from cheek to cheek, but it was the sudden devious glimmer in her cool jade eyes that made his hair stand on end. After one more obligatory nod, she raked her gaze over his reclining frame and finally announced. "Okay, well…let's see how long 'his highness' enjoys sleeping with one eye open."

And though Dave grinned in return, trying to appear as if he wasn't phased by her idle threat, he chuckled nervously…he might be well served in sleeping with one eye open—especially if she ever remembered what a great prankster she actually was.

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The sofa cushions flopped under her weight as Barren sank down hopelessly, slamming back against them, covering her face with her hands. "Where the fuck is it?" She muttered, groaning loudly. Sending Randy and both girls on a scavenger hunt for Seattle's best donuts and coffee had afforded her a significant amount of time to lend a thorough search for the key…a very thorough and very unrewarding search. Barren was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the key was nowhere in the townhouse…and without it, she was doomed.

Angry tears spilled over her lashes and Barren freely gave way to them. Not because she was given to fits of despondency, but because she so badly needed to let it all out and had not been able to do so in Randy's presence. It wasn't only the impressive weight of her brother Duncan's death, nor was it merely the absence of the key. It was the fact that she was a charlatan. Barren was a liar and an interloper. She had carelessly meshed her problems with someone else's and now they were dangerously close to doubling for both parties. If she didn't solve the fatal dilemma soon, she would end up thrusting every one of her new acquaintances right into the line of fire. And that was something she had never intended.

Barren was saddened that the gravity of the situation forced upon her had caused her to resort to tactics that she had previously abhorred. Things her dear mother had warned her never to give freedom to. She had lied more times than she could count…certainly more times than she had been honest in the past few weeks. She had stolen money from the delivery driver's collection bag and she felt a fresh wave of guilt every time she thought of how they might have taken it out of the man's paycheck. She had wormed her way into Randy's life and made a dastardly mess of his best laid plans...and even Max…Nancy's best friend hadn't been immune to Barren's indiscriminate betrayal. She had used the very worst sort of dishonesty just to prevent him from exposing her. Barren had planted seeds of doubt in Max's heart about the security or lack thereof in his longtime friendship.

She had sown doubt in Dave Batista's head too, via Randy. Carelessly convincing Randy that Nancy was ready to hightail it back to wherever she came from—just to get them out of the house so she could have her search for the key. And now after having realized that the key might actually be with Nancy, Barren knew that her web of lies was about to grow exponentially larger, because now she had to turn around and scheme in another angle. It was becoming a worrisome burden that Barren wasn't sure she could even carry, but she was smart enough to know that the longer she stayed ingrained in the lives of her new friends; the longer she stayed in one place—the closer McCaughey's people were getting to her.

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Waiting in the drive-up of the donut shop after having ordered half a dozen 'things' with sprinkles and some crème filled Bavarian concoction meant to overload the system of any normally carb-conscious dieter, Randy Orton sighed contentedly and smiled. Different…this was definitely different. A few weeks prior; the suggestion of racing to get donuts and coffee would have been meant as a clever means of escape for him from a one-night-stand in the early morning hours, but not today.

There was something inordinately domestic about sitting in the drive-up ordering donuts and coffee with two kids in the seats; a constant featherlike annoyance on the back of his neck every few seconds—he swiped a hand over his neck again thinking it might be a fly—and preparing to take the loot back to a warm home where a woman waited for him. Was this what it was like to have a family of your own? If it was, he thought he might like it…he also thought he might feel the slightest pang of deprivation at not having it with Samantha …but oddly he didn't.

Another soft-as-a-whisper, tapping sensation on the back of his neck, followed by a very musical giggle, and his hand came up once more to swipe at the fly—which was not really a fly at all, but a tiny handful of 'RedHots' candies being thumped at intermittent intervals by Audrey who was a deadeye from the backseat. He repressed the laugh that begged to be let out and was secretly jealous that his friend had all of this to enjoy, a stable home, a great job, daughters who constantly kept things lively and obviously revered him and a wife who…well he could do without a memory deprived wife…he didn't envy Dave for that. He pitied Dave, pitied him because he'd caused the whole thing.

But there was hope, was there not? Dave had taken the advice and swept his wife onto the plane and hopefully they were making new memories over room service. Of course, the fact that law enforcement hadn't called and notified Randy of World War Three breaking out in the hotel room, had him fairly sure that their differences were being settled. He snickered at the thought and handed over a bill to the cashier after he passed the box of donuts over the gearshift to Vanessa who was in the front seat. Randy then secured the coffee and pulled away from the drive-up lane, but instead of taking the lane out into traffic he pulled over into a parking spot after another 'fly-followed-by-a-giggle' mysteriously popped the back of his neck and he spun around with a mock wicked look on his face startling Audrey so badly she nearly upset the entire handful of candies in her fit of tremulous laughter. Yep, if this was what it meant to be a family…he definitely thought he liked it.

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Lynn was convinced she was dreaming, when she felt the band of soothing warmth slide across her back and then over her hip where it ceased and stayed, as if it were hot liquid pooled in a hollow. A contented release of her breath and she let one eyelid lift…slowly, reluctant to emerge from sleep. Her first foggy sight beheld a narrow shaft of light through the space between the curtain and the wall—there was a pale-yellow, rising sun outside. The red numbers on the bedside clock told her that it was well past seven in the morning, which meant that she hadn't set her alarm or had ignored it altogether.

A measurable lack of sleep as of late was to blame for her listless laziness, of that Lynn was certain. Unworried, she sank her head deeper into the lushness of the pillow and closed her eyes, preparing to let sleep overtake her once more…for at least another half hour before she had to get ready for work. It was however, the deep and blissful sigh emerging from somewhere in the dim shadows behind her that had Lynn's eyelids snapping open, her heart slamming against her ribcage…and then there was the sudden remembered fact that _she_ was not alone in her bed.

The keen sense of the warm band, alerted her to a masculine arm hooked possessively over her figure and a subtle twist of her head, confirmed a shock of glossy black hair, attached to the rugged face of someone who needed a shave. Lynn rolled fully to her side and was met with the clear eyes and lazy smile of her companion, a smile which she returned politely if not a bit stiffly. Then like a pensive drum-roll, punctuated by a series of crashing cymbals, the complete and utter gravity of what she had done bolted her straight upright and after a shocked and mortified appraisal of her companion—she let loose with a long, shrill, incoherent shriek.

"What?" Evan leaned up on his elbow watching the resilient, but bedraggled beauty, launch herself from the bed, forcefully dragging the bed sheets with her in her flight. "What's wrong?"

Lynn panicked, her breaths coming in short and rapid bursts when she was met with the sheer shameful realization that she had just been party to a one-night-stand. This was not her! This couldn't be her!! Not straight-laced Lynn Orton! This was a complete damnable, hellishly-wicked aberration and she was sure she was possessed of the devil to have even contemplated it! This was something that her _'Fly by the seat of his pants'_ brother, Randy would do…not her! But then again the decision to be bedded by an Irish jeweler, was a judgment that had been made after a few too many raspberry martinis, a string of soft-spoken praises, and a flurry of sweet silken kisses…Lynn gripped the sheet in a viselike twist and let loose with another blast of a shriek, one borne of a mix between livid frustration and naked despair.

"What's wrong?" Asking again more bewildered than before, Evan grimaced at her shrill scream, still reclined on his side in the large bed.

"Oh, Good God…I can't believe this!" Her free hand flew to her temple, shaking her head wildly, she let her eyes slam shut as if to block out the image of the entire scenario.

"Lynn?"

A muffled groan was her only response.

"Did I do something wrong?" Evan asked, bewildered and caught completely by surprise.

Her distressed gaze swept from left to right in survey of the rumpled bed-linens, the randomly abandoned piles of clothing. "It's not you…it's me!" Lynn's voice was still laced with panic and she was suddenly stricken with the realization that she was no better than her unredeemable baby-brother…and that solid immovable fact brought on a fresh wave of anger and incredulity.

"Well then what did _you_ do?" Evan prompted gently, hesitant to provoke another anxiety filled outburst.

She looked almost wild; her eyes wide, a look of horror etched on her features, she blurted. "I'm no better than _he_ is! I'm a hypocritical, unrepentant, self-indulgent…Man-Whore!"

"W-What?" The inquiry sputtered forth on a bubble of laughter as a look of amusement stole across Evan's features.

"I-I mean, I'm not a _Man_…Whore…" Lynn announced ruefully and with a little less exuberance. "I'm just a whore." She paced despondently, a bitter scowl screwed on her face.

"Oh, Lynn."

Lynn put her hand in the air to silence him, abruptly brooking no objection. "No really…I am, I-I have to be, I don't do this kind of thing…Ever!" She spun around in hopelessness as if the solution to her dilemma lay in the rumple of clothing on the floor, but upon setting eyes it again her shoulders slumped and she whined. "I never did anything even _remotely_ resembling this kind of-of debauchery" She chewed off the words as if speaking it left a bitter taste in her mouth. "I'm the good daughter…the one that they can count on! I'm not the one who has one-night-_stands_! That's Randy!" She groaned again.

"Lynn, it's not as bad as you think." He spoke soothingly, as he sat up preparing to go to her.

"You don't understand!" Lynn wailed. "I have a 4.0 GPA…I own my own business…I'm as predictable as a baked potato! It's Randy who's the slut, not me!" She blew out a hiss and verging on tears, she sputtered the long overdue confession. "I'm the one you can set your watch by…_he's_ the textbook example of promiscuity…you can look the word up in the dictionary and there's a picture of him holding up his little black book!"

"You're being too hard on yourself."

"Not hard enough evidently!" She snapped rudely "I'm him! Holy _hell_, I am my brother!" Lynn began to panic again, her full lips crooking into pouting-disgust as visions of future family holidays ruined by her inconsistencies swam through her head. "Despite my best efforts to get him to clean his act up, in spite of all of the things I've done to be the better of my parent's offspring…I've become _him_!" She flopped down on the edge of the bed, cradling her head in her hands, uncaring that the sheet was perilously close to falling away from her bare breasts.

"Lynn?" His voice in her ear and hands on the smooth flesh of her shoulders was a comfort to her wounded pride. "Yer not yer brother…I've seen him and I can assure you that _you_ are a hell of a lot better lookin' than he is."

His placid and unthreatening attempt at humor, brought forth a nervous laugh and she leaned back against the lean, corded muscles of his chest as he perched on the bed behind her. "_So,_ you enjoyed having sex with someone that yer not married too." He supplied. "It doesn't make you a whore…it makes you human." He tugged the errant layer of honey hair away from her shoulders and pressed his lips against the skin there. "I certainly wasn't looking at it as a one-night-stand…the start of something exciting, maybe…but definitely not just one night." Evan was briefly disturbed by how easily the statement rolled off his tongue…surprised when he felt no conflict between the words and his emotion. Was it because it might be true?

"If this makes me anything like Randy, the next thing you know I'll be calling in sick all the time, and making excuses for intentional failures…an-and showing up late for everything…"

"Oh, I _like_ the idea of that…" Evan murmured against her flesh. "In fact I suggest we be late for everything today…" His lips cherished the skin below her ear. "And the beauty of that is…" His hand then slid around to lift open the folds of the sheet exposing her body to his touch. "that _you_…" cupping a breast, he sighed, feeling the firm round weight of it in his palm. "don't have to tell a soul why…because you're the boss."

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His breathing was deep and steady and she watched him in perfect silence. Eyes closed, with only the merest twitch of a lash, Nancy decided that Dave Batista looked as peaceful as she had ever seen him…for as long as her short memory would recall, at any rate. His jaw was still stiff even in his sleep; nose strong and straight, hinting toward his Greek descent. His cheeks and chin were heavily shadowed, indicating that he needed a shave. She liked it that way…he appeared more masculine, somehow…if that were even possible.

Leaning over him, she was careful not to cast a shadow that would toy with the light behind her and risk waking him, at least not until _she_ was ready for him to awaken. Nancy was still content to observe him…for now. Lips, that while motionless still beckoned at their softness, pricked at the memory of them traveling over her flesh, yesterday and made Nancy smile. But the smile was followed by a frown when she recalled that she was still a bit irritated over his contrived drunkenness. But as she watched him, breathing and dreaming, she knew that today would be the day she bested him in battle.

He wanted her, she wanted him…and now that both had admitted as much, there was no denying that fact. And so she would do whatever was in her power to make him wish like hell he'd never teased her. Stifling the urge to run her fingertips over the muscles of his bare chest, she swallowed and grinned again…oh, yes, today was going to be the day he found himself sorely wishing he'd left her home.

Somewhere, though she knew not where, Nancy could have sworn she recalled reading that the fear of death was worse than death itself…so could it not stand to reason that the fear of retribution was worse than retribution itself? Would it be possible to seek vengeance and attain it by merely dangling the fear of it over his head? Nancy thought so and was determined to prove it to herself.

Bending over him even now served two purposes…it gave her uninterrupted time with which to assess what she deemed was a perfect physique and if she remained there until he opened his eyes of their own volition, her unexpected closeness might just scare the hell out of him. As delightful a prospect as it was, the room service cart she'd ordered would be as cold as a glacier if she didn't get him up soon, and so after a reluctant sigh, she cast one last, lingering look at the hardened plane of his chiseled abdomen barely concealed by the sheet and then reached one delicate finger out, sliding the radio alarm clock on—full blast.

He was awake instantly. He jerked, as if he'd been slapped; Dark eyes squinting as his handsome face contorted into a frown, one Nancy surmised had probably matched her own last night, when he'd carelessly woken _her_. She chuckled, sitting mere inches from the edge of the bed, in the desk chair which she had silently tugged near the bedside for her use, when she'd first formulated the plan. Dave Batista's livid and befuddled glare swept and then locked on her…he jumped again not having expected her to be so near.

"Good morning…_honey_." Nancy said brightly, not bothering to hide the smooth smile that leapt to her lips as she graced him with the embellished endearment. It was all she could do, not to laugh out loud, when she observed his fierce frown and saw him glance at the blaring, bedside clock as if his own harsh grimace could silence it. "Oops, sorry…that _is_ a bit loud." Nancy grimaced and then she turned the radio alarm off, with one smooth motion.

Dave was exhausted and in a notably foul mood. His body was protesting every sound within a mile, he was half tempted to curse at the ironic injustice of being woken up, but he knew he'd be a fool if he did. Another swift and painful jerk of his head, caught her with a smirk that twisted her full lips, sitting next to the bed…only a foot or two away from the numbers on the clock that told him it was still barely eight o'clock.

It probably wouldn't have seemed so early, had not the last memory of his fogged brain been that of glancing at the clock somewhere around 4 a.m., and silently praying that his wife didn't play a prank on him while he slept. Her very gently vicious threat from last night had met with it's intent to strike fear in his heart and he'd been up half the night waiting until her eyes drifted shut before falling off to sleep himself.

Being possessed of the notion that she had indeed somehow wrangled him in the night, he lay there wondering if he dared even move. The fact that the woman in question, his wife was mere feet from him, fully awake and with a very thinly concealed devious expression, sent Dave Batista's blood racing through his veins in icy fear. Fear of what she might have done while he was sleeping. A discreet kick of his leg beneath the sheets revealed she hadn't tied him to the bed and dually it had confirmed that she'd not glued or taped any part of his anatomy to any other parts. He was remiss to breathe a sigh of relief until he was certain that he was completely unmarred. "What are you doing?" He finally ventured to ask, his voice a mere scratch.

A smile and her eyes glittered devilishly. "Just watching you sleep."

"Why?"

"Well because there's never an opportunity for me to study you, or watch you without _you_ getting the wrong idea." Nancy admitted, a certain thread of truth weaving through her statement. "And so since I was up, I thought 'What the heck' and pulled up the chair…_and here I am_."

The silken darkness of her tone on the last four words of her explanation, struck a surprising chord of dread deep within him. Intimidated? Struck by fear? Never! Maybe? But by a woman more than a foot shorter than he? By a woman he outweighed by better than a hundred-twenty pounds? Damn right he was…and though he wouldn't tell _her_ that, he was just the slightest bit inclined to believe that his wife _had_ done something heinous and _he_ was going to pay dearly for it. As it stood, Nancy had patted his shoulder and rose to her feet, lightheartedly suggesting he get up and then she strode as regally as royalty across the master suite and flung the curtains wide, letting in a blasted bright span of sunlight that caused him to squint fiercely and jerk like a vampire caught out of his lair. Tempted to curse vehemently, he was cut short by her cheerful announcement of breakfast.

"You really should get up now." She chided.

He frowned, deciding that she probably wouldn't let him sleep even if he were crass enough to demand she do so. Dave swung his feet over the side and stood, but not before checking to see that he was still meagerly clothed…his inner beast served to warn him that she might've had enough moxie to have exchanged his respectable underwear with something from an all-night novelty shop, while he was soundlessly dreaming. Once confirming that he was still encased in his black boxers, he padded on weary legs to the bathroom and shut the door with undue force behind him.

The first thing he did was check closely to see that she'd not drawn something of a phallic nature on his forehead in permanent marker and once satisfied that he'd mysteriously received no retaliation to his other body parts, he reemerged from the bathroom to find her bustling about the table in the living area, arranging the wares from the room service cart.

It was markedly difficult for Nancy not to laugh at his behavior. Her hulking husband was blessedly paranoid and that told her that she was succeeding in her attempts to keep him guessing…she'd just bet he'd been in that bathroom checking to see that she'd not marked his body up in some sinful way. She lifted the lids off of the trays, and allowed herself the luxury of grinning madly while her back was turned to him. "I'm starved…will you eat with me?" The question was purposely demure and she was pleased when his grunt of acceptance was followed by the sound of him sliding into the chair.

"This looks good." Dave said hesitantly as he appraised the fluffy omelet on the plate, wondering if she had toyed with it in someway when he wasn't in the room.

"It does, doesn't it?" Nancy smiled and winked. "But that one's mine, not yours." She slid the second platter toward him and lifted the lid, exposing a slab of country ham and two over-easy eggs with other nondescript accompaniments. "_This_ is yours."

One brow dipped and he crooked his lip. "Looks a little…buttery." Greasy had been what he wanted to say, but the look on her face, as if she were expecting praise gave him pause and forced him to choose his words carefully.

"Well, you probably could use the grease to soak up all of the alcohol you imbibed in last night." Her statement was sugary sweet and the fake smile showing her luminescent white teeth irked him. "Besides, there's toast and ham and fruit salad and all sorts of stuff if you're not happy with…that."

Her sudden flowery sarcasm reminded him that they were in the middle of a battle of wills and so he huffed. "I'll bet you put something in this behind my back." His eyes pinned her to the spot and he felt his pulse race when he saw her smile deviously over the rim of her tea-cup.

She shook her head and set the cup down as gently as if she were having tea with the queen and then in her husky voice she addressed his concern. "Oh, sweetheart…that's just downright silly." She narrowed her eyes. "I would _never_ poison you…" Nancy knew she had him when saw his breath catch on the pause. "…Not when you're my only means of getting back home." She dropped the summation in his lap and wasn't surprised when he laughed anxiously.

"I don't trust you." He announced laying his fork on the edge of his plate and challenging her with a hard glare.

She huffed and smiled, rewarding him with the withering scorn to which he was due and rounded the table, her fork in hand.

If he didn't know better he might have been persuaded to think that she was intent on stabbing him with the fancy cutlery, but instead of flinching, he showed no fear and was secretly relieved when she waved him slightly aside with a delicate flick of her wrist.

"Big Baby." She muttered under her breath and slashed the edge of one egg with the fork, letting the yolk run free, she then swiped the small bite into her mouth and chewed, staring directly at her husband. "Are you happy and will you eat now? Or would you rather wait a few minutes and see if I drop dead first?"

Dave was greatly inclined to believe that she was provoking him; purposely seeing if she could get a reaction from him. He couldn't stop the slow smile as it crept to his lips. She was standing inches from him as he remained in the chair and he could have reached out and bodily seized her, but he didn't. Not in such a long time had he been laden with the urge to shake her senseless and make love to her at the same time. "No, you can sit down now." He told her and then gloried in her cry of surprise when his hand met playfully, swatting her rump as she turned to go. "Sorry couldn't help it." He said innocently when he saw the instant flood of scarlet to her countenance.

"So…" Nancy began shoving aside the nervousness and the naughty visions brought on by his millisecond contact with her derriere. "What do you have planned for today?" She was pleased when the question came out sounding more like a concern for his needs, rather than an inquiry to determine whether she could get away from him. It would play right into her plans.

He chewed, wondering whether she was about to spring a trap of sorts on him; wondering why he was allowing himself to be so damned paranoid about her this morning. "I really need to hit the gym." He confessed and then deciding that she might be bored all by herself, he further suggested. "There's a really popular spa downstairs…maybe you could go for a massage and some, facial…whatever, stuff while I'm gone." He was slightly bothered when he saw her shoulders slump.

"What if I go with you?" Nancy asked brightly, not truly having a desire to attend a workout session, but fully content to torment him with the thought of her performing some physical feat for which she currently wasn't permitted.

"You can't go with me." He said softly. "You know you can't work out right now."

She pouted. "I could walk on the treadmill, or I could carry your towel for you." Nancy appeared every bit the picture of a hopeful understudy.

The last thing Dave wanted, was to have half of the roster and any curious fans in the gym believing that he was merely toting his pregnant wife around for use as a human towel rack, nor was he content to spend his entire workout wondering if she were overextending herself physically while walking on a treadmill. A moderate number of possibilities such as her tripping or catching a shoelace in the equipment or God forbid having her water break—"No." He hadn't meant for it to sound so final, so rude. Perhaps it had been because of the fearful direction of his thoughts and the fact that he was a little overprotective of her.

"No?" Her voice was laced with a tremor of sadness, but before he could further explain, she averted her eyes and then brought her gaze back up to her food, not looking in his eyes…not wanting to give away the fact that she was fighting to conceal her amusement. "I guess I can see how I might be in your way." Her voice trailed off into a sad whisper.

Damn it! Now she was on the verge of tears…and _he'd_ caused it. "It's not that you'd be in my way…" He fumbled to find the most tactful way to explain that she would probably indeed be in his way, without actually stating it as such. They had worked out together a million times before, but that was before her pregnancy and now with her less than nine days away from giving birth he was half panicked every time he thought of her doing anything more strenuous than getting the mail. "I was just—"

"Don't worry about it…" She appeared to be composing herself, bringing herself back from the brink of tears; pulling the fork from her mouth her gaze on something far across the room to her left. This close to breaking character, she dared not look him in the eyes.

He frowned again…he had after all brought her on the trip to spend time with _her_, hadn't he? "What if I—"

"You're busy…it's okay…I'll spend the day by myself and then we'll meet up here in the room before your show." Nancy stammered purposely fusing her voice with inflection, pretending to swipe away a tear, as she pulled from her lap a brochure detailing the amenities of the Griffith Observatory. "This is where I'll be." She announced with trembling finality. "I'll just take a cab there after I finish breakfast." Nancy prepared, knowing by the look of ire on his face, that her blatant rebellious statement would garner a challenge. It didn't take long.

"The hell you will." His statement was firm but not forceful. "You're not taking a cab somewhere, alone in L.A., pregnant in stifling heat, just to see a bunch of statues and pictures in a museum." He laid the brochure down in front of him without ceremony.

She nodded, pretended to be wounded by his statement, yet seeing the sensibility in it. "Okay…I'll call a limo."

"Nancy!" He barked, fed up with trying to find a suitable objection to keep her from going at all and sat up straight, huffing and pushing his plate away. "Are you testing me? Just to see if you can get a reaction?"

"I can't believe you'd suggest that." Nancy scoffed, one hand flew to her breast in mock offense. Then after a long pause, she smiled slyly and asked "Is it working?"

He shook his head when he saw her smile. "Between you and Audrey…I'm surprised I have any patience whatsoever."

"Does this mean I can go?" Nancy asked with wide-eyed hopefulness.

"Not by yourself." He mimicked her tone and set himself to the task of finishing his breakfast.

Nancy huffed for real this time. "Why not?"

"Because." He defended. "Can you just be adult about it or do I actually have to list all the reasons?"

"A reason would be nice." She said planting her chin in her palm and pressing her elbow on the table. "You get to go where you wanna go. Why can't I?"

If she only knew how very childish her summations made her appear…he wanted to laugh, because in a way she reminded him of Audrey and in yet in another way she was covertly gleaning from him the admission of how very fearful he truly was to repeat the past by letting her out of his sight again. How could she even possibly know how the mere thought of something happening to her when he couldn't be there to assist drove a knife of guilt and fear straight through his soul? She couldn't know…not unless he chose to tell her…and to admit that would make him vulnerable; more than he wished to be at this point. He gritted his teeth in near exasperation as he struggled to remain calm. "I can give you a handful of reasons, Not the least if which, is the possibility that you could go into labor days early." He nodded his head succinctly as if he was satisfied with the statement and he looked back down at his breakfast.

"Well, you didn't seem hindered by that possibility when you made the very barbaric, and might I remind you, _singular_ decision to bring me on this trip with you." Her lips formed an almost irresistible pout. "And now it's only fair that you repent for your bad behavior by entertaining me for the remainder of the trip."

"You're not going anywhere by yourself."

She pounced. "Then go with me!"

It hadn't been in her original plan…from the beginning it had only been her intention to toy with him, to make him think that she was going to go traipsing off into the sunbathed landscape of a dangerous city all by herself. And now all of a sudden the thought of having him come to the museum with her was…very appealing. "Blow off the workout…it's just one workout." The words flew from her lips and she hadn't meant for them to, but she didn't regret their emergence once they had.

He eyeballed her for a sign of insincerity. There was none. And in the larger scheme of things, what was a workout? Just one, when compared with the chance to spend time with her and reform a tattered bond; really it was nothing. "Alright, we'll go." He was pleased when he saw her smile and lift the brochure up again so she could browse through it. "I still don't know why it is that you'd rather go look at a bunch of ancient artifacts instead of getting a massage."

Nancy pinned him with a dead-on glance, and her normally shining olive face went ashen. Her voice floated out on a whisper as she held up the brochure and turned it so he could see it. "Because I remember this picture."


	26. Chapter 25

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 25

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"When you do the common things in life in an uncommon way, you will command the attention of the world."

George Washington Carver (1864-1943)

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Though the sweater was wrapped loosely around her waist it chafed the skin on her hip and she reached down to tug it straight while waiting patiently for her luggage to make its way around the carousel. Her sunglasses effectively hid her expression of pensive expectancy, but they couldn't hide the smile that kept tugging at her lips…the smile that she dared not give way to fully, for fear that she would again have her hopes and dreams dashed.

Her plane had landed less than ten minutes prior, but she felt as if she had somehow been trapped in a warp and been standing in the same spot for days. Coming such a long way for an act of remuneration had been a decision she'd battled with. Never had she expected full return on her previous emotional investments, but she _did_ have a need to make amends. There was no question about that. And though she'd spent almost three long years kicking the persistently nagging idea around, coming to the L.A. based pay-per-view to make the apology hadn't originally been her idea…she hadn't found herself possessed of the bravery that an apology of this magnitude would require. Certainly, she'd even practiced the words…formed an entire two-sided conversation in her mind, gone over it a million times or better…changed it to suit what she hoped it would be.

Knowing that it would not change the past, would not fully remedy what she'd done, it would act as a way to heal…everyone involved. A tap on her shoulder forced her attention away from her anxious thoughts, and she palmed the ink pen as it was thrust toward her, signing her autograph with a flourish. The name at the bottom of the magazine she returned to the man read: _Christy Hemme._

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"How would you like it if I put the rabbit inside of _your_ backpack and let him crap in there?!" Vanessa was inches from strangling the white rabbit in the cage and was only ceased from doing so by Audrey's tiny body, which was literally draped over the cage in the corner.

"I didn't mean for it to happen!" A wide-eyed Audrey shot back. "I was doing a trick and I didn't have a hat…I didn't know he would poop in there!"

Vanessa let loose with a feminine growl of injustice and held her holey basketball jersey in one hand, and her excrementally damaged 'Looney Bag' in the other, holding them up for Audrey to observe. "I swear! I can't share a room with you anymore, because I'm gonna end up killing you _and_ your rabbit!"

"I'll call Daddy and he'll bust your butt!" Audrey threatened, pointing one tiny brave but trembling finger at her big sister. "It was just a-a accident! And you're rude!"

"Everything you _do_ is an 'accident', Audrey! You ruin everything you get your hands on!!" Vanessa threw the damaged goods on her bed with furious force and stalked the rabbit cage, fully intent on turning the soft white bunny into a new, soft white purse. "Move out of the way, Audrey!"

"No!" Audrey flopped her body over the top of the cage, despite the fact that the tiny metal door was on the front side of the cage, and her attempts at protection were useless. The moment Vanessa was within reaching range Audrey let out with a vocally explosive howl. "Randy!! Randy!!"

Randy heard her shrieks from the kitchen and he bounded up the stairs three at a time fumbling to enter the room, the oven mitts still on his hands. Barren was hot on his heels. The door swung open and he caught sight of Audrey sprawled out over the Rabbit's cage. Vanessa whose French manicured hands curled in rage, her brown eyes dark with thunderous fury, was hell bent on getting near enough to the cage to snatch the rabbit from within it.

"She's killin' him!" Audrey yelped, lashing her feet out in startlingly accurate kicks to keep Vanessa at a suitable distance from the cage.

"Not yet, I'm not!" Vanessa pointed out logically, on the verge of growling. "But in about two seconds I'm gonna!"

Randy's eyes widened with befuddlement. "_What_ is going on?"

Randy's attempt at braiding a measure of authority through his tone fell flat when Vanessa whirled her head, pinning her murderous glare on him and announced. "_She_ put that stupid rabbit in my Louis Vuitton satchel with my basketball jersey and he shit on my stuff!"

Audrey gasped, mortified by the epithet. "I'm telling Daddy you said _'shit'_!"

"So? You just said _'shit'_, too." Vanessa snapped, her lips crooking with a smirk, when Audrey realized her error and covered her mouth with her own tiny hand.

"Everyone stop saying _'shit'_ and someone please tell me what the hell all the yelling is about!" Randy huffed in exasperation, wondering how a grown man was expected to deal with more than one girl at a time.

Both of Dave's daughters began to state their cases at the same time, with riotously gesturing arms and quite loudly. The room was ringing with angry chatter, accusations and the occasional sob followed by the sputtering of a denial.

It was Vanessa's voice that finally cut between a pause in Audrey's howling. "I don't have a purse anymore because _she_ can't keep her hands off my stuff and so now I'm gonna turn that rabbit into a handbag!" Vanessa threatened and then finally snapping, she lunged for the cage.

This action elicited a loud squeal of fear from Audrey and a lethal kick of one skinny leg, which connected painfully with Vanessa's shin. "Keep away!" Audrey snarled, her face covered in tears as she sobbed, still hunkered over the cage.

"Stop!" Randy commanded, wedging himself between the two girls, dodging another lunge from Vanessa and catching the brunt of a powerful kick from Audrey that had been meant for Vanessa. "Ow! Cut it out!" He held up a palm toward each angry girl and then he noticed how silly he looked with his hands still sheathed in the oven mitts. He puffed in exasperation and whipped them off tossing them to Barren, who was fighting to restrain her amusement.

Normally respectful and composed, Vanessa Bautista was riddled with unbridled rage over the mistreatment of her belongings. It was a decided injustice to be forced to room with Audrey who had no concept of organization or cleanliness, especially when Vanessa had always been careful to keep her own belongings in pristine condition. "She always manages to break my stuff, or stain it, or tear it up and everyone defends her because she's a little kid!" Vanessa pointed out, her black eyes glittering with tears that refused to fall. She huffed, plowing her fingers through her hair, which fell back in glossy waves. Then she turned to Audrey and she warned in a dangerously calm tone. "You may as well sleep in that cage with him, cause the minute you turn your back, I'm gonna break his little body in two."

The threat brought forth a wail of terror from Audrey who couldn't have possibly made herself more akin to a blanket on top of the cage. Randy's jaw dropped, mostly because he'd never heard Vanessa say anything more scandalous than _'crap'_ and somewhat because the teen resembled her very own father in the midst of a match. Right now she was a mix of _'bark and claws'_ and Randy found he was just the slightest bit fearful that she might actually follow through with the threat she'd voiced. "Hey!" He snapped frowning and turned his harsh gaze on Vanessa. "Back up…" He warned. He then turned to Audrey and commanded her to remove her body from the top of the cage.

"She'll get 'im if I do!" Audrey insisted, her eyes sparkling with tears as she shook her head in refusal. "You heard her! She'll break his body!"

"Audrey." Randy pursed his lips in frustration, deciding against reasoning with the petite 8 year old. "Get up off the cage…_now_."

Neither girl had ever witnessed such a look of frustration on the countenance of their father's friend. Randy had always been the fly-by-night fun guy, the friend of their father who snuck them snacks when no one was looking or ate their Brussels sprouts on the sly. Of course, neither girl had ever displayed such a heinous act of sibling warfare in front of their father's friend before, so it would stand to reason that he was utterly exasperated with both young ladies. Vanessa, still scowling folded her arms over her chest and backed up, adopting a very stiff keyhole stance.

Audrey stood up slowly, her cape askew and her nose running. "You're not gonna let her—"

At a loss for proper words Randy grunted and sliced his hand through the air to silence her. He turned around to Vanessa and announced in a much calmer baritone "Nobody's killing rabbits around here."

Vanessa snorted and shot Audrey a look that said _'That's what you think!'_, but she was abruptly halted by Randy's arched brow and fierce look.

"I can't believe you two." Randy observed, shaking his head and looking down his nose at both girls. "Sounds like a damned lumberjack match up here…"

"Woulda been a cage match, if I could have—"

"Hey!" He held one finger up to Vanessa and she glanced down at her shoes in feeble contrition. "Now would somebody please, very rationally and _calmly_, tell me what the hell is going on?" He pointed to Vanessa indicating that she should speak first.

"Like I said, the rabbit took a dump in my satchel and chewed up my jersey while he was in there and then Audrey hid it from me! I found them wadded up under her bed…"

Oblivious to her own culpability in the situation, Audrey immediately jumped to her pet's defense and loudly began to protest the calloused description of his time and duties in the satchel. "He never meant to do it!"

Again the conversation spun out of control, both girls' voices rising in volume and intensity. Randy finally had to shout in order to halt the clamor and bring the tone down to a respectable level. He was half tempted to take a page from King Solomon's playbook and threaten to cut the rabbit in half and give part to each girl, but then he remembered that Vanessa would be only too happy to witness the rabbit's demise. Instantly a memory of something similar that had happened in his childhood spawned the solution for the entire problem.

He reached out grasping Audrey's perpetually sticky fingers and handed her behind him to Barren who wound her arm around the little girl's shoulders and then he spoke. Vanessa's glare of challenge met with Randy, as he held out his hand toward the cage in invitation. "You wanna kill him? Be my guest." He gave her carte blanche, despite Audrey's sputtered screams behind him. "Do it! Your convinced that's what it's gonna take to solve the problem, so go right ahead!"

Randy knew by the shocked look on Vanessa's face that she was having great difficulty reading the situation.

"I-I—" Vanessa's heart was thumping angrily but at the same time she was positive that the in-ring beatings her father's friend had endured must surely have robbed him of all sanity. Why, he was practically daring her to murder her sister's dear pet!

Randy nodded, his gaze fierce, but his voice remaining controlled. "Kill him, skin him, whatever…but _you_ have to clean the mess up…and _you_ get to be the one who explains the whole thing to your Daddy."

Even little Audrey, who had been protesting loudly fell silent at the mention of her father and she tried to appear brave through her tears, knowing that once her Daddy became aware of her own blameworthiness in the rabbit scandal, _she_ was going to be the one doing the explaining.

Vanessa faltered at the sudden remembered knowledge that though her father was a terribly intimidating opponent in the ring, he was dead set against his daughters giving full reign to their tempers. Dave had always known that there were consequences to not thinking before you act…and he had fought hard to impose that lesson in his dealings with his daughters, making certain that they knew how important it was to keep their emotions in check, no matter how angry they became. A look of defiant wrath fell away from Vanessa's face to be replaced by a lopsided pout. "I'm just so mad." She admitted, her shoulders slumping, with the exhaustion of dealing with her younger sister.

"I'd be mad too." Randy admitted, his tone more accommodating. "But we both know murdering Audrey's rabbit isn't gonna solve anything." He realized with sudden perplexity that he sounded somewhat…fatherly. "It's just going to ensure you some consequences too."

Vanessa nodded and then she turned her scowl on Audrey. "I'm not gonna kill your stupid rabbit." She muttered with unconvincing remorse. "But I _am_ gonna tell Daddy what you did."

Audrey wilted and then whined. "Now _I'm_ gonna be killed."

Barren hugged her shoulders and leaned down to whisper. "It'll work out…don't cry."

Randy decided upon a plausible solution for splitting the girls up long enough to restore peace. "Vanessa, you come down and help me finish dinner, and Audrey you help Barren clean up this…mess." His gaze swept around the girl's room, mostly Audrey's half which was strewn with all manner of clothing and girlie things. "You can clean Vanessa's half too." He announced much to Audrey's chagrin.

Audrey appeared ready to stomp and pout, but Randy halted her with the announcement that pouters got stuck with _'KP duty'_. Vanessa knew what he meant instantly and she straightened her own expression, reluctant to test Randy's mettle.

"What's KP duty?" Audrey scoffed, apparently weighing whether it was a repulsive enough endeavor to warrant delaying her sulking.

"Trust me, you don't want it." Barren warned in a low voice, bending down to help readjust Audrey's cape. "It's dishes…and sometimes mopping, or even peeling potatoes." She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she explained and then resisted the urge to smile when Audrey schooled her dark expression into one of demure innocence. "Girls, give us a minute." Barren said, standing to her feet, patting Audrey's shoulder and motioning to Randy.

Both girls nodded and stood in the bedroom as Randy followed behind Barren down the stairs into the living room.

Randy flopped down on the couch a sigh fluttering over his full lips. "Holy shit…" He glanced wide-eyed at Barren. "Now I _know_ why Dave carries a bottle of Ibuprofen in his bag all the time! Please God! Let me have sons when I get married." He begged in prayer, and then he lowered his head and laughed out loud, grateful that the danger of physical harm to the family pet had passed.

"Boys can be worse." Barren announced. "_They_ fist fight when they're angry."

"Ah, true…" He held up one finger as his other hand rubbed the sore spot on his shin made from connecting with Audrey's kick. "But boys don't have purses that rabbits can shit in."

"Very true." Barren bit her lower lip and then smiled.

Randy's brows knitted together and then he glanced sidelong at Barren. "Just so you know," He informed in a low voice. "I wouldn't _really_ have let her kill Audrey's rabbit." He smiled and shook his head, a chuckle bubbling up in his chest.

"How in the world did you know that she wouldn't have really taken you up on your offer to let her kill him?" Barren questioned. "She certainly looked angry enough to do it."

"Nah, she's a good kid…and besides, my dad used that trick once when Lynn and I got into it over a pet that I had…only _my_ hamster ended up having babies in the passenger seat of her collector's item Fiat Spider."

"No biggie, so you just cleaned it up right?" Barren observed.

Randy bristled at the memory. "Not…exactly." He gestured, the memory flooding fully into his brain. "When I said 'in the passenger seat', I meant '_inside'_ of the passenger seat." His hand gestured as he spoke. "The hamster burrowed through the upholstery and we had to tear the seat out and replace it."

Barren's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of astonishment and then she let loose with a full peal of silken laughter.

"See? I thought it was funny too." He grinned. "But Lynn didn't seem to think so…especially when the hamster made an angry appearance in the floorboard at the stoplight on 3rd and Main."

"I bet she came looking for you." Barren responded.

"Yeah, she did." He concurred with a nod and a soft laugh. "A true vision of terror, she was." Randy reminisced. "She chased me down with a hot curling iron that afternoon after I got home from school…she woulda caught me too if Dad hadn't been home from a trip and stepped in to rescue me."

Randy smiled at the memory, his anger at Lynn softening measurably. "I guess she and I aren't really that different from them." He notched his chin toward the upper level. "Sort of like Audrey, I never really intended to cause my big sister so much grief…but I never really took control of my actions, either."

"Maybe we're all more alike than we want to admit." Barren, swallowed.

After a long pause and a steady stare, Randy nodded his agreement. "I think I owe her a long overdue apology." He let out a pent up breath as if doing so might lift years of stress from his shoulders.

The very instant the words issued from his mouth, Barren felt a bolt of emotion that she'd not been prepared for. It was as if he'd suddenly grown markedly wiser right before her eyes—wiser and more compassionate all in one single moment. Was it even remotely possible that she was imagining what sort of husband and father Randy Orton would prove to be one day when he was married? Was it even possible that she was wishing _she_ could be that woman? Staring at his profile as he grimaced and rubbed his shin again, she was dismayed to discover that the emotion pitching back and forth in her belly wasn't longing, wasn't lust…it was _love_.

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Who would have guessed that her memory of the picture would've been tugged at merely because the piece of art in question had been identical to the one above his mother's fireplace? It was by no means a masterpiece, only a rendition; a reproduction numbered print in the collection done by Leonardo Da Vinci. Store bought and worth less than the frame when hanging on his mother's wall, he had never even known his wife liked the painting.

It was a start, though…because along with the memory of that very common piece of art, came her recollection of a pair of ivory candlesticks; not ones that resided in the museum. And he grinned thinking how it was an enigma that Nancy could recognize the picture, remember that it hung _somewhere_ in _someone's_ house close to a pair of ivory candle sticks and yet she'd not know her own name if she hadn't been told what it was. True enough, it hadn't been the groundbreaking discovery he'd thought it would be, but what it had been was an opportunity for the both of them to step outside of their current quandary and just enjoy an outing together.

"Are you ready?" He checked his watch once more and called out to her, a twinkle of amusement in his eye when he thought of how she'd been cleverly prepared this time; taking every necessary stitch of clothing into the bathroom with her when she bathed. This afforded him no opportunity whatsoever to recreate the situation he had a day prior.

The bathroom door opened and she stepped out, the shift in air blowing a stray cinnamon curl back as she came across the threshold. "I'm ready."

He let out a low whistle and gave way to an appreciative grin, appraising her attire, not surprised that she managed to somehow grasp exactly how to put together an ensemble that flattered her ripe figure and rivaled the fashion sense of any other runway designer. The sight of her dressed as she was, filled him with a sense of contentment, yet it poked at the caged animal, reminding him that his bodily needs were sorely neglected.

"Is this okay?" She was unsure as she blinked up at him.

"You look beautiful." He assured her when her voice cut through his thoughts—and she did.

A silken top in a soft persimmon set off the glow in her olive skin and the fabric shirred in the front above her breasts, giving him a full view of the delicate collarbone and the regal slant of her neck. Half-sleeves with the slightest flare allowed him to see the tennis bracelet that he'd bought for her long ago, though she couldn't remember it, and a delicate strap in a lighter more iridescent shade of persimmon tugged the fabric taught just above the rise of her stomach, then cascaded down past her hip. Nancy had balanced out the very dressy top with a pair of crisp, white capri pants with a knife-edged crease and a pair of gold strappy heels; somehow the color scheme had managed to compliment her skin tone and the daring choice to juxtapose something casual with something dressy, read as classy to his finicky eyes.

"Thank you. So do you." She said taking in the smart cut of his suit, and the way it encased his body, rather than hung like most suits men wore. She was caught and held by the dark handsome expression and a few seconds ticked by before she realized what she'd said. "I mean, not…beautiful, but…you know what I mean." She corrected herself, but if there was a man on the face of the planet that _could_ be beautiful, it would be him, with the ink-black hair that had grown out an inch or so past what she had awakened to find a month ago; dark brows, like a punctuation above his eyes, drawing her attention to them. Like coffee, brewed only moments ago, his irises held a dark and smoky secrecy much as two bejeweled thieves set above those cheekbones and below that, a well defined jaw. Her husband might not have shaved in a day or so, but the shadowy stubble that covered his face only made him look more fashionable, trendier. She liked the way his eyes creased in the corners when he smiled at her remark and Nancy was also drawn to the sight of the strong white teeth behind the lips she knew were soft and warm, her focus blurred for a moment and then she lifted her tiny handbag, averting her gaze and prepared to follow him.

The pair found themselves in the elevator, bound for the venue as they discussed the art they'd seen and then pondering the girls at home, who must surely be driving Randy and Barren mad.

"Thank you for taking me today." Nancy said as soon as the doors opened leading out into the parking lot. And in keeping with her earlier decision to inflict as much torture on him as he had done her, she purposely let her hand brush against his inner wrist as he held the car door open for her. She grinned slyly when she noted that he swallowed deeply the moment that their flesh made such innocent contact. What she hadn't been prepared for was the warm tingle that tickled her palm followed by the amused twitch of his lip.

A short drive ended with them pulling around the back side of the arena and then with a heavy sigh that indicated she might be feeling a little unsettled, she turned to face him. She cast a glance out of the window toward the arena and then turned her eyes on him. "I can do this."

Dave surmised that the comment was her way of trying to blanket something she had her doubts about, more so than reassuring him. He hadn't believed for one second that she _wouldn't_ be able to navigate her way through the events of the evening, for he had all the faith in the world with regard to her level of strength and abilities. His wife was becoming a master of adaptation, and if she could deal with his antics and still be sporting such an appealing air of dignity, then she could do anything. If there was a single earthly soul that he _had_ confidence in; one person that he believed in with every molecule of his carnal make-up—It _was_ her.

"I know." His voice was soft when he spoke, but it had the effect of a soothing caress. Nancy believed that he meant it…truly. And the ripple of emotion in his dark eyes, as they probed hers held her rooted to the spot for a long moment. Nancy let her tempest tossed senses be anchored by a feeling that as yet, she dared not place a label on and then he leaned in, very softly kissing her on the mouth. One second or two, maybe…not more, yet her body felt enveloped in a wash of warmth, as if he'd been this close for longer than she could recall. Peculiarly she was wishing he wouldn't move.

"Ready?" He waited until she nodded a silent agreement, before he shut the car off and rounded it to help her out. "If you start to feel uncomfortable or you just need to be out of sight for awhile, I can arrange a seat in the press box for you." He took hold of her hand as she stepped from within the car, catching an unseen purl of her fragrance when he did so. His jaw clenched reflexively when the scent, along with one tendril that the breeze caught upward and sent tickling his neck, served as a reminder of his unintended celibacy and he had to realign his thinking.

Nancy hitched her chin up a notch, in a subconscious act of bravery. "I'm sure I'll be fine." Her courageous words were only window dressing, for she had only felt this way once prior in her short span of memory…and if she were to be truthful, she would have to admit that she was equally as fearful this very moment as she had been upon waking to the mockery of a blank brain.

She didn't stop him, or attempt to move away when he remained standing in front of her, a penetrating look in the depths of his eyes. His hand was pressed on the swell of her belly where his son was sleeping and motionless, and he finally winked, a wordless acknowledgement that he believed her words. He hadn't any words that he could say to express his confidence in her, none that wouldn't be mangled by his tongue in the process, but he was fairly certain she was able to sense it.

Dave Batista backed away from his wife long enough to retrieve his bag from the trunk and then he led her away from the car. He would have been satisfied if she'd chosen to walk ahead of him, inadvertently allowing him to admire the very tantalizing view from behind, with her hips still defined and possessed of that inherent feminine sway. But he was surprised and noticeably pleased when she nudged his arm from the side and then grasped his hand, threading her fingers through his and closing the few inches between them, so she could walk by his side.

Looking down on her, taking note of his own rising pulse and then the sudden scarlet flush of her skin and the apprehensive set of her jaw, he was reminded of a time, not more than a few years ago when he'd put his physical body on the line to protect her. That was something he couldn't do for her now. Not because he didn't want to, but because his physicality could not compete with an assault of confusion over old acquaintances and terrifying unknowns. Her enemies were not tangible; he couldn't destroy them with his own two hands, to keep her safe. The most he could do for her was to shield her from unanswerable questions and unquestionable awkwardness by keeping her isolated; but doing that wasn't going to serve as a favor to her. This battle was hers to fight; her self esteem—the casualty.

Her much smaller, much softer hand was pressed in his and yet her fingers were gripping his more tightly than he would have thought necessary, but he didn't mind because just having her touching him was lifting his spirits.

His locker room was one that he shared with one other wrestler. This man was missing a front tooth, short and stocky enough to blow through a defensive line-backer and someone that Nancy was certain she had liked before she'd forgotten who he was. After the initial introductions had passed, Chris Benoit humored Nancy with a few innocent jests about her husband and reminded her that she shared a commonality with his own wife. The two women had the same name; something that had served as a source of confusion when the two men were conversing about their wives. The awkwardness that had begun to settle in like a burr under a saddle drifted away like ashes from a campfire. Nancy finally suggested that she should find a ladies' room, mainly because it would afford privacy for Chris Benoit to dress.

Of course Dave's directions had been clear enough, but there was little doubt that her already nerve-wracked brain would jumble them up like a snarl in a weaver's thread. So it was little surprise that she very quickly found herself on the wrong end of the arena, next to an ever increasing concession line. Realizing her mistake, Nancy ducked back into the service hall and began to retrace her path, when she was momentarily assailed with the notion that if she spent too much time roaming the halls in her conspicuous state, that she might very well be mistaken for a groupie and tossed out into the melee with the fans. A ridiculous assumption, she realized, when her trek took her past a multitude of WWE staffers in black shirts with a logo, who nodded and tossed up timid waves, or half smiles. One thing that Nancy _did_ notice was the singular fact that they all reacted to her presence as if the entire staff had been pulled into a meeting beforehand to be informed of her current inability to remember anything and instructed to don their most fashionable 'kid gloves'.

It was preposterous, the morose twist her imagination had taken, and she laughed lightly, dismissing it as such. But upon rounding the bend in the corridor, she spotted, or rather, _was_ spotted by a pair of blondes in less than scantily couture, who upon making eye contact with her began a rapid and excited approach. And though Nancy knew that their swift advance didn't likely mean that she was going to end up being someone's supper with her head on a pike, she felt no less threatened by the exuberance and the speed with which the pair swooped down on her.

Both women reintroduced themselves, obviously privy to her predicament and began to chatter on as if her lapse of memory meant nothing to them. The fact that they were unerringly polite, helped ease Nancy, who had made a concerted brave effort not to visibly flinch when they had alighted upon her like two starved hawks. She learned that both of the women were Divas for whom she had provided design concepts and obviously both considered her a friend. Nancy's spirits were lifted by the revelation and she was thankful that even though it was apparent that both women knew of her amnesia, neither chose to pity her. They both treated her as if her ailment were nothing more than a common headache, giving it little power over their ability to commune with her as a friend.

Her trek down the long hall revealed more of the same from all manner of people, who seemed notably bolder after witnessing the interaction between Nancy and the other pair of Divas. People began coming out of the woodwork to remind her of who they were, to ask her when and if she was ever coming back and to congratulate her on the imminent birth of her child, to compliment her clothing, to joke with her about her husband, the list of topics was endless. A bevy of hands had caressed and patted her swollen stomach, even a few of the braver Divas leaned over to embrace the belly and cooed and baby-talked the unborn child with promises of spoiling him rotten. The whole situation was nothing like she'd envisioned…her mind had previously had her convinced that she'd be a pariah. She'd been certain that people would have avoided her as if her amnesia was poison ivy, but it had been the exact opposite.

Elated and with a newfound sense of self, Nancy was still intent on finding the ever elusive bathroom and also surprisingly she discovered that she was eager to be back in the locker room with her husband to share her experience. And…something even deeper inside of her was loath to admit that she was the tiniest bit interested in walking in on him while he was barely clothed. She was weaving in between enumerable people, having finally caught sight of the bathroom, when a woman holding a boom mic and helpfully guiding another on the sound crew backed directly into her.

Nancy was the first to attempt an apology, but was met with a flurry of apologies from the auburn haired beauty as the woman turned to see with whom she'd connected. The mutual gaze that ensued, oddly was one of familiarity. For Nancy it was the idea that she'd seen the woman before, though not fully able to place where. Beautiful, striking…it was hard to place an accurate description to the woman holding the boom mic. She was possessed of delicate features and a very well kept physique but the most intriguing feature was the pair of crystalline eyes that when considered closely, revealed recognition and then utter shock. Nancy didn't have the luxury of placing the name or the origin of acquaintance with the red-haired woman, but she could sense by the look in the eyes staring back at her, that this woman knew who _she_ was.

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Christy might have only been more shocked if she had just narrowly missed being flattened by a runaway elephant. This was the second time in her short life that she'd collided with _this_ woman. The very first impact between the two had prefaced a full-blown disaster and this one might have been much the same. In her shock, Christy blurted out Nancy's name, almost as if she was testing to see if her vocal chords could indeed function.

It had been three years and yet, the sight of the woman standing mere inches from the front of her brought the crumbling onslaught of heartbreaking memories back as freshly as if the demolition of Christy's relationship with Dave had happened only seconds ago. In fact, so fresh and hurtful was it that Christy had to swallow a lump of grief when it pushed itself up in her throat thankfully blocking the emergence of a regretful sob. The woman in front of Christy appeared the same…hadn't really changed much, other than the round stomach that indicated she was having a child—his child…and the large prismatic diamond that winked tauntingly back at Christy from Nancy's left hand as she brushed a glimmering curl back away from her face.

Her entire world could have been tumbling head over heels in slow motion for all Christy knew and it took several deep breaths to stabilize her senses; to remind herself that she hadn't come here for conflict. She was still holding onto the microphone attached to the large pole and seemed to be frozen, cemented to the highly polished arena floor.

Nancy hadn't given much credence to the look of shock in the woman's eye. It was likely that they knew one another from previous dealings and the woman was simply surprised by Nancy's visit to the venue; and yet something about the encounter was disturbingly familiar. The whole of it forced the tiny hairs on the back of Nancy's neck to stand at attention.

"Hi…" Nancy responded hesitantly, after hearing that the woman knew her name. "Do we, uh—I'm sorry, I'm not sure where we know each other from."

So it was true. Nancy had no clue whatsoever who Christy was…Candace had mentioned that Nancy had been in a car accident with Randy Orton and that her impact with the dash had caused amnesia. Candace had even laughed about it, dismissing it as a _'convenient'_ ailment. But Christy hadn't laughed, at first she hadn't even been sure it was something that she could believe, as far fetched as the idea seemed. But most surprising of all, was that she hadn't felt the intransigent rage when she heard Nancy's name. And that was only because Christy had spent three long years trying to put her own life on the right track. It had taken a wealth of confessing, admitting her faults, making reparations for her wrongs; it had taken some healing and a great deal of growing up. Of course none of her strides had come without struggle, or without the need to forgive, grappling with the desire not to. And that was the reason; the sole reason that she'd hopped a plane between TNA gigs and ended up here in L.A.

Christy had come to apologize to Dave Batista. To apologize with no ulterior motives, no tricks up her sleeves, no concealed intent; to apologize and then walk away. Candace had mentioned that Dave was willing to talk with her, that he was willing to hear her out, encouraging, pushing and finally pressuring her to make the trip so that she could get things off of her chest…but she'd _never_ mentioned that his wife would be in attendance. Suddenly remembering that Nancy had spoken to her, Christy responded.

"From…" Her words lodged in her throat, fighting to stay in or stuck in her larynx on the way out, she didn't know which. Unable to continue for the moment, Christy lifted her gaze to the boom mic as if the answer were hidden somewhere atop it. How did she address such a simple question? How in the _world_ was she supposed to tell the woman in front of her that the only reason they knew one another was because Christy had been involved in a plot to destroy her life? Certainly she owed Nancy an apology too, but there would be no getting past Nancy to apologize to Dave if wind of the fact that Christy was here swept through the arena. Leveling her gaze on Nancy she took note of the soft unimposing, glance; the pale green eyes looking back at her. They held no hint of mockery or anger and she knew she couldn't tell Nancy, couldn't possibly risk upsetting the fragile dynamic of this encounter.

Nancy smiled again, tucking her bottom lip up under her teeth. "I bet you're a Diva aren't you?" The woman's beauty alone made that the most logical assumption.

Christy shook her head smoothly. "No…I'm…" Her hand on the mic prompted her to lie, not out of ill born intent, but because she still knew of no proper way to reveal the exact nature of _why_ they knew one another, without instantly putting Nancy on her defenses. "Um, I'm…um. Sound crew." Her words were trembling along with her hands gripping the pole tightly.

A nod and Nancy extended one hand. "I would have thought for certain you were a Diva, you're certainly lovely enough to be one." She waited until the flame-haired woman's hand was nestled in hers and then she said. "It's nice to meet you…again. What did you say your name was?"

"Chris—" She was halted from completion by the jarring motion of the remainder of the sound crew as they began to pass. "I have to go."

"Bye Chris." Nancy watched as the woman smiled hesitantly and then hefted the pole, following the train of sound crewmen and women down the long hall.

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She had watched them from above as she stood stiffly against the rail of the breezeway in the arena. Could it be morally proper for someone to feel giddy at the thought of causing a rift in another person's personal life? Candace didn't know for sure, and to be perfectly honest, she couldn't care less. The sight of the two exiting the Bentley below and standing toe to toe in some tender moment grated on her already frazzled nerves and incited her jealousy over Dave's refusal.

But Candace would have the last laugh; even if it killed her. She couldn't have Dave…didn't really want him…not romantically at any rate. It had been the desire to have someone she could trust; discreetly fulfilling her sexual needs in any given city, especially since her husband was so very busy building his practice and neglecting her in the process. She slid her bags into the cubby in the locker room and began to remove her jewelry so she could prepare. And as she did so, she mentally ticked off the different aspects of her plan. Chris Masters would do his part without a doubt, she had a member of the arena staff prepared to follow her instructions to the letter with regard to a certain power outage, but the crown jewel in the plan…the one thing that would send the whole damned ship plunging straight to the ocean floor…was the arrival of her gal-pal Christy Hemme, who should already be entering through a back hall.

A delighted laugh tickled her throat and she let it out, as she withdrew her bustier, boots and pants, tossing them on the bench. A twirl in front of the mirror confirmed for her that she would _always_ be the better choice for any man she sought, she would always be someone's fantasy…or would she be? She was beautiful, a playboy centerfold with a very full bank account and she could boast tens of thousands of male fans and jealous females. She had the security of being able to ply her trade in a company that allowed her to travel the globe; she was happy, wasn't she? Her smile faded, only to be replaced by a rueful smirk. It didn't matter if she was happy…she would be after she caused a little damage…even if it wouldn't last for long and she'd be left once again looking for another, more entertaining pursuit.

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"Looks like TNA is treating you right."

The voice came from behind her when she passed away the boom mic to the sound man whom she'd chosen to help and Christy Hemme whirled around, surprised that someone had already recognized her. "Huh?" The word came out like a misfired pellet.

Shawn Michaels chuckled and patted her upper arm cordially. "I said you look like you're doing well in TNA."

She returned his smile, nervously and shifted her stance, biting her lip before responding. "Well, I'm facing the future…head on. I think that helps."

He nodded. "Not facing it alone I hope."

"Nope, I had a heart change." Christy referred to her newfound Christian faith. "It's not as easy as everyone made it out to be, but it's better than it would be still navigating blind." She wondered if she sounded foolish.

He hitched his chin toward the end of the hall where he'd seen Christy interacting with Nancy. "I heard the two of you." There was no hint of accusation in his voice.

"Oh God, I know." Christy said, frowning as if the knowledge of it was painful. "I was gonna tell her who I was, but I couldn't bear the thought of explaining everything to her…I lied and told her I was part of the sound crew…I'm such a jerk, I came here to apolo—"

"Can I just tell you something?" Shawn asked, lifting his brow and holding one finger up in the air. "I won't lecture, I promise."

Christy nodded her consent and looked him in the eye, listening closely to what he said.

"You reap what you sow in this life, Christy." He told her softly. "God will honor one good seed, even if it's planted in secret. You remember that." He reached out and hugged her quickly, smiling his trademark half-smile and then excusing himself. "Good to see you..." he then turned and said. "By the way, watch out for those cross-bodies you're doing. The transition looks a _little_ choppy." He see-sawed his hand and then gave her the thumbs up, continuing on his way toward the green-room.

Minutes later, Christy was pushing open the door of the ladies' locker room, relieved to find it almost empty, save for Candace who squealed when she laid eyes on her. Being swept up in a bouncing hug, Christy laughed and patted her friend on the back as the two exchanged greetings.

"I thought you weren't gonna make it." Candace tapped her wrist to indicate that Christy was late.

Christy shrugged nonchalantly. "Traffic." Her eyes darted from the top of the row of lockers back down to her own hands which were nervously toying with the hem of her shirt. "I was wondering…"

"Hmm?" Candace asked, noticing the very subdued demeanor of her friend.

"You never mentioned that Nancy would be here."

A very soft observation; it had the effect of a flaming arrow. "Until tonight I wasn't sure that she'd even be coming." She lied innocently as she stepped forward gripping Christy's shoulders. "But that has no bearing on your apology." She cooed.

"I doubt she's going to have a desire to hear _my_ apology to _her_ husband, who happens to be _my_ ex-bed buddy and the reason I nearly ruined _her_ reputation and _his_ life…I have the feeling that I wasted a trip." Christy explained, voicing her second thoughts.

"No you didn't." Candace said, giving her shoulders a little shake. "Dave _asked_ me to sort of keep her occupied while he hears you out. So I'm going to take her on a tour of the arena…or something silly like that…you just make sure that you're in that locker room making your apology at 7:15 or else you'll miss him, because he'll be in the ring, shortly after that and then he's leaving right after the match."

The whole thing felt scripted, planned…and Shawn Michael's words were ringing like church bells in her ears. "I don't know, Candace." Christy began. "Maybe things are just better left alone."

"Left alone?" Candace ceased applying her lip-gloss in mid-swipe, arched an angry brow and whipped her gaze around to stab Christy with it. "You almost ruined that man's life and any future that the two of them might have had…you _owe_ him an apology, at the _very_ least!" Her voice was admonishing, low and forceful. "I stuck my neck out for you so I could set this thing up." She flung her hands up in the air as if she was fed up with the whole thing.

Christy bristled at the heartless rehashing of her former bad behavior. She sighed and stared at her feet. Then she composed herself and met Candace's gaze. "Fine 7:15."

"Good, now I have to go fetch her and give her the grand tour." Candace blew her a kiss from the door and then whispered "Good Luck."

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After checking to be certain that all of the windows and doors in the studio were secured and locked, Randy allowed Vanessa the well-earned luxury of using the loft space to sleep in so she wouldn't be forced to share space with Audrey. But not only that, it prevented the accidental death of the rabbit, should she be stricken with the notion to follow through on her erstwhile threats.

He and Barren tucked Audrey in after a half hour of shadow puppets on the wall and his staunch refusals to let her remain awake until her father's plane was set to land. Three glasses of water and four books later, he dragged his tall bedraggled frame alongside Barren's yawning body into the nursery, where he flopped down face first onto the bed, leaving Barren to fend for herself.

"I have more energy after an Iron Man Match…" He groaned face down into the bedding.

"How do they do it?" Barren asked, flopping face-up beside him. "We're too weak to be parents."

Randy laughed into the coverlet, releasing a contented exhausted sigh and then he rolled over. "Well, we're not married, but we could work on becoming parents." He joked.

She responded with a laugh of her own. "You live for humor, don't you?"

"Right now I think I could die for it too…please would you rub my shoulders." He begged and then let a ragged groan drag itself from his throat as she mounted him and kneaded the muscles of his sinewy shoulders for little more than half a minute, before dropping off his rear-end to lie beside him. "Tease…I really do hate you." He announced in a distinct monotone.

"Dave and Nancy get in tonight on a red eye at 1:30, right?" Barren asked, her thoughts taking her back to the key. "Wonder why they didn't choose to stay until the morning."

"Not sure." Randy's voice was a bedding-muffled murmur. "Maybe they're just eager to make sure the house is still standing." He snorted a laugh, amazed that his first officially legitimate attempt at house sitting had gone so well.

Barren smiled, lying on her side, running the fingertips of her hand in random circles on his back. "Well, it's almost all over."

"Thank God!" He moaned. "I don't think I'd make it another 12 hours…I'm running out of 'Pearls of Wisdom' and Audrey's smarter than we are."

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"I'm so glad you made it!" Candace fell into step beside Nancy and latched onto her arm protectively.

"I'm sorry." Nancy inquired, smiling. "I've forgotten how we know each other."

Candace let the fingers of one hand fly up to her lips in mock remorse. "Oh shoot! I completely blanked out about the…amnesia, thing."

Nancy tucked her lip between her teeth and then smiled obligatorily. She had been hoping that she'd make it back to her husband's locker room so she could tell him about her encounters with staff, but she had no sooner walked away from one person, than she became entangled in a conversation with another. The most interesting person so far had certainly been The Big Show, who was little more than an oversized teddy bear…a complete contradiction of his massive size. Teddy Long who'd shown no hesitation in reacquainting himself, hugging and congratulating her ran a close second and reminded her of a father.

But now, here she was being latched onto by another woman, only this time it was the woman from the video of SmackDown that Dave had been hesitant for her to see; A woman who was as beautiful as the Sound Girl from earlier. Certainly no shortage of gorgeous women on the roster and Nancy felt a ripple of jealousy.

"We're good friends." Candace announced. "I really missed you when you left to work from home and we don't speak much now."

"I see." Nancy gave the woman the benefit of the doubt though her husband had never mentioned that they were friends.

"Would you go with me to the video trailer and talk to Rodger for a moment and we can catch up on lost topics?" Candace asked, pasting on a smile.

Nancy hitched her thumb to indicate the hall in the other direction. "Maybe later. I really need to go—"

"I'll have you back here in just a minute, but none of the other guys in video know you're back yet, they'll be disappointed if you don't at least say hello." She pretended to pout, using a guilt-trip tactic.

Nancy cast a worried look over her shoulder in the direction of her husband's locker room and then tossed her fearful gut feeling aside. "Sure I guess I can, but I really have to hurry."

"Back in a flash…cross my heart." Candace promised and then led Nancy away in the direction of the parking garage.


	27. Chapter 26

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 26

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"…I've found that 'Thinking outside the box' works better if I know what's 'Inside the Box'…in life, we need to understand our pertinent history…and moving on is so much easier once we know where we've been."

--Dave Grusin, _Award-winning composer and jazz musician._

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Maybe Nancy had stumbled upon Lizzie her former assistant, on her way to the bathroom and the two of them had gotten lost in conversation after becoming reintroduced. Dave glanced at his watch again frowning and then he tucked it back into his bag and began chewing the inside of his lip impatiently. He had hoped that Nancy would feel comfortable enough to venture into reacquainting herself with former friends. He just hadn't expected it to take so very long. He shucked the black dress-shirt and slipped it over the hanger, then turned to unbuckle his pants, when he noticed the overhead light as it flickered twice but remained lit. He wondered if there was an electrical problem of sorts, but then dismissed the thought so as to continue in his preparations. By the time he had his trunks on he had begun to worry about Nancy in earnest and decided to step out into the hallway to look for her.

Dave's attempt was detoured from its original course, by Ted Dibiase who insisted that he and Chris Masters attend a last minute match confirmation in the green room.

"Chris goes over." Ted reminded Dave. "He takes the spot as Number 1 Contender so that we can rewrite you for a heel turn later."

Chris shuffled his feet nervously. "What's the finishing spot?" His eyes were welded to Ted's face and the grim determination that hardened his square jaw hinted toward a cold and dark intention.

"Simple pin-fall." Dave inserted, a look of morbid curiosity wrinkled his brow. Never had he seen Chris Masters so eager to know a finishing spot, nor had he seen the look of raw hunger behind a set of suddenly passionless eyes.

"Master Lock…it would put me over, big time." Chris said shaking his head, his fingers mechanically flexing as if he might be thinking of laying his hands on someone.

"Nope." Dave shook his head. "You're over already…Be satisfied with a pin." He was immediately aware of the plan that was bouncing around in Chris's brain; he just wasn't sure why Chris was all of a sudden so interested in exhibiting his submission move.

"Come on Dave…You let me do it once before." Chris smirked, turning to face Dave.

Face to face, the two men stared at one another for a long, silent moment. "It won't happen again." The low and threatening rumble of Dave's response, coupled with the near wicked grin on his face, sent a frozen trickle down Chris's spine.

"Sure, whatever you say."

Dave was almost positive that Chris's blatantly acquiescent response was a clever cover for his intent to pull a surprise card out of his deck. Dave couldn't help but think that the young rookie was behaving somewhat like a prepubescent teen boy who could scarcely contain his excitement over a dirty magazine. Dave also had the distinct impression that he'd been thrust out of the loop where the creative angle was concerned and not because Creative department had intended it. It was obvious that the intent was a result of a bond between Candace and Chris, with each of them toting their own motives.

"Am I missing something here?" Ted asked, interrupting the intense interaction between the two wrestlers.

Chris turned his head slowly, clenching his jaw and then pasting on a smile to cover his obvious irritation. "I guess not." He finally answered, his every move and the very basis of his stance projecting easy arrogance.

"Look I don't care how you two do it, just so long as Chris goes over, for the sake of Dave's impending heel turn." Ted explained, his gaze landing on Chris and then on Dave. "I'm just as happy with a pin. Now, as to the interference spots that Candace will be involved in…I've already spoken to her and she knows what she has to do, so don't be surprised if you end up being slapped a couple of times." He chuckled, trying to abate the tension between the two men but his attempt failed, he realized, when Chris shook his head and lifted both hands in surrender.

"I got no problem, but if Dave would rather make the match predictable as usual…I'll pin him."

Dave had never been one to err on the side of predictability. He'd taken great pains to make his matches as memorable as possible and to add as many unforgettable elements as needed. It not only offended him to hear a flippant insult casually spouted from the mouth of a rookie…it infuriated him. "The only thing you'll be able to predict in this match is the final outcome." His voice was an unreadable, undeterminable, unholy claim.

"The finishing spot, better be flawless." Chris said, leveling his finger to Dave's chest, a dangerous proposition should Dave decide to snap it off. "Because if you're still standing, I'm gonna lock in my submission on you and if you don't sell it, I'll—"

"You'll what?" It seemed as if Dave had grown a full 6 inches in a mere second or two, his posture more threatening, his eyes flashing darkly and his nose just millimeters from Chris's. "What are you gonna do, Chris? Huh?" At no point did he find it necessary to raise his voice, he had accomplished his goal simply by standing up for himself. "You're an infant in this business. And you're not gonna do shit." He very softly warned Chris, who smiled superciliously and backed up, with his arms out to his side.

"Like I said…" Chris lifted his brows.

"I won't 'job' to you, Chris." Dave affirmed as a sinister grin lifted the corners of his mouth.

Ted swiped a hand between the two men and verbally inserted himself. "Fellows, the match starts in 20 minutes. There's not time for this." His gaze lit on Chris Masters. "You'll go for the pin, alright? We're not in the business of punking people out…that's Ashton Kutcher's territory."

Chris answered with a stiff nod and then turned on his heel and stalked toward the locker room he shared with the rest of the roster.

Dave was inwardly fuming, every muscle in his body tense, the chord of his patience fraying like a corroded winch cable, yet he shook hands with Ted just like the professional he was and turned back toward the hallway, determining that by now his wife would surely be back in the locker room waiting for him.

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Candace Michelle was _not_ a close friend, though the Diva had claimed as much during their initial meeting, but it was what it was…a false claim. Of that Nancy was certain. She had determined the illegitimacy of that fact rather quickly, especially since the Diva had done little else but to insert very subtle comments about the difficulty of post-pregnancy weight loss, and inquire almost surreptitiously about a sex life that Nancy would never have shared the details of, even if she could remember. But what Nancy wasn't able to determine was _why_ she was being dragged from person to person, and place to place, throughout the arena, by someone who clearly had something on her agenda besides friendship. After multiple attempts to extricate herself from the forced captivity of Candace, Nancy finally turned and made a very assertive effort to excuse herself.

"I appreciate the tour, Candace, but I have to get back." Nancy turned and made a move to walk away, when a woman in a pair of blue jeans with tattered tennis shoes and a grey t-shirt, covered by an oversized brown cardigan approached.

"Nancy…" The woman was smiling and out of breath when she spoke her name, her blue eyes seemed full of life, set symmetrically in her slender face, even if they boasted dark circles beneath. Freckles across her cheeks seemed a playful trail leading from ear to ear, and her lips shaped like a cupid's bow and naturally rosy curved into a true smile of friendship.

"I'm Lizzie." The disheveled woman held one palm against her own chest and extended the other toward Nancy. "You used to be my boss." It sounded lame, Lizzie thought, especially when what she really wanted to say was. _'Get away from Candace as fast as you can.'_

Nancy didn't know why she felt such immense relief to be approached by the woman. "Hi, Lizzie." She shook the hand heartily, watching the oversized sleeves of the cardigan flop hopelessly like woolen wings on a fabric bird. Nancy had the strangest urge to trash the woman's cardigan and tie her t-shirt up in a knot like a Hooters Girl shirt, just so that the girl's figure could be seen. Snapping out of the fantasy of a make-over, Nancy chose to seize the moment and use Lizzie as a distraction. "Listen, I'm short on time, can you help me find my way back into the building so I can get to Dave's locker room?"

Lizzie nodded and just as she was about to lead Nancy away, the strong and forceful hand of Candace latched onto her arm. Fingers biting into her skin even through the cashmere cardigan, Lizzie felt the unspoken threat.

"You're busy, _right_, Lizzie?" Candace said through a tight smile, her eyes flashing menacingly.

Lizzie was taken aback by the pressure with which Candace grasped her forearm. She knew the Diva could make life a living hell for her should she defy her. Any courage that Lizzie might have thought to exhibit withered beneath the fiery gaze of the beautiful Diva. Lizzie caved. "Uh, yeah…I am kinda busy, Nancy I'll see you la—"

Lizzie was ceased in her farewell by the sudden rough, but subtle removal of Candace's fingers and the whirl of her jacket fabric as the Diva, rushed forward ahead of Nancy offering to return her to the locker room. "I'll get you back, I'm sorry I just knew how many people were hoping to see you tonight."

Nancy didn't say a word in response to Candace. Having not seen or sensed the interaction between the two women she quickly smiled and waved to Lizzie who was turning to leave. Even as Candace began to chatter on like a magpie, Nancy held her tongue choosing instead to pick up her pace. This whole situation felt suspicious. Candace was overly friendly, to the point of being nosey. She was loud and her laugh was akin to a having the top two layers of your eyeball peeled off with a nail file. The sooner she got away from this woman, the better.

Finally around the corner, only yards from the locker room, Candace reached out and latched onto Nancy's arm, the action halting her and forcing her to turn. "I just wanted to say thanks again for letting me be the one to help you immerse yourself back into the flow of things."

Nancy who was abundantly fed up with the Diva's maddening presence bit her lower lip, stifling an angry remark, when what she was tempted to say was that she wished she could _immerse_ Candace's head under water and hold it there until the bubbles stopped. What's worse was that she hadn't the foggiest idea whether she had ever been so utterly annoyed with someone. It was bad enough that the woman had the impression that Nancy was stupid as well as memory deprived; but the Diva had actually deemed her own playacting performance Oscar worthy, when the entire time, Nancy was positive that she was lying. Nancy's only salvation was the fact that she had her own two feet and could finally walk away.

But even that was thwarted by a suspiciously cheerful Candace who rounded the corner ahead of Nancy and stopped just shy of opening the locker door. As soon as Nancy was at the door prepared to brush past Candace and open it herself, her ears were met with the sound of a very subtle electrical buzz and then a click, followed by a distinct pop. Then the unmistakable sound of her husband's irritated sigh, followed by a loud 'thud', an even louder flurry of curses and then sound of a chair clattering to the tile floor.

"Dave?" Nancy attempted to push the door open, but his voice from the other side gave her pause.

"Nancy, don't come in here." His voice was firm. "The lights went off and you could fall." There was another round of cursing and then the sound of the chair scraping across the floor.

Candace grinned devilishly. The attendant she had compensated handsomely to cut the breaker on that particular locker room at exactly 7:20 had done his part, perfectly. She almost laughed out loud, wondering if Christy was in the darkened locker room realigning her clothing after a long overdue interlude. Perhaps that's why he had insisted that Nancy not enter. Candace lashed her long arm out uncaring of the rudeness. Her hand shot past Nancy and she shoved the door inward, just seconds before the light popped on again. Like a harbinger of death, the Diva stepped over the threshold into the darkness, chin lifted in haughty satisfaction, ready to herald the scandal that she had been dead-set on creating. But as soon as the lights came back on, with a resounding pop what Candace was certain would be revealed upon her triumphant entry was exactly the…_opposite_…of what was before her.

Fully dressed for his match, Dave Batista stood glowering ferociously, like a bear with his foot caught in a trap. Imposing and yet vulnerable, one hand on his head covering a trickle of blood and the other open palm planted on the locker door. There was no sign whatsoever of Christy, much less an interlude. Candace's bewilderment had little time to settle in before she was brushed aside by Nancy who stepped fully into the locker room.

"You're bleeding…what happened?" The concern in her voice indicated that she had all but forgotten her earlier irritation with Candace and she approached him with no hesitation.

"The lights went out and I ran into _this_…bulkhead." He knocked the knuckles of one hand into the fascia of the dropped ceiling, jutting out two feet from the top of the lockers. It was a large, solid duct-covering that would never have posed a problem for someone much shorter. But for Dave Batista who was well over six feet tall and had already had a near miss with it twice prior, the sudden, unexpected darkness had simply sealed the fate of a collision with it. Dave lifted his hand away from the wound, his gaze fixing on Candace who stood, mouth agape, staring into the recesses of the locker room as if she'd expected someone to materialize.

Nancy caught the shift in her husband's brooding expression and was reminded of her irksome tour guide, who was still standing in the doorway. She turned, "Thanks again for the…um, tour. Another time, huh?" Nancy placed a hand on Candace's elbow and gently led her to the door. "It was fun, but we'll catch up later." She forced her voice to sound sweet, tamping down the sheer nausea as it bubbled within her and then finally after another soft push, she managed to get the door closed behind Candace. Like a woman in a horror movie being chased by an assailant, Nancy twisted the lock on the inside of the door and turned pressing her back against it and then sighed. "Thank God that's over."

The sight of the blood as Dave pulled his hand back away from his head, reminded her that he was hurt and though she didn't know why her heart began to race at the thought of him being injured, she let herself act on the instinctual desire to help him.

"What did _she_ want?" A sudden nervousness mingled with adrenaline had his posture rigid and his jaw working.

"Oh, _her_?" Nancy frowned, stepping in front of him and motioning for him to sit on the bench. "She not only knows I have amnesia, but she thinks I'm an idiot too." Her voice became markedly softer as she touched the fingers of the large hand that returned to cover his wound. "Let me look at that."

"Everything alright?" He was suddenly anxious at the idea that Candace might have tried to insinuate that he and she were involved.

Green eyes met with deep brown, and Nancy finally swallowed, smiling. "I think she has a thing for you…and whatever it was that the two of you did in the past, she hasn't gotten over it."

The bottom quite nearly dropped out on his sense of reason. She never ceased to prove how intuitive she was, even if she had no grasp on her past. He was suddenly fearful that this might be the straw that broke the camel's back. "Nancy, I promise, all of that was way before you…and I—"

She shook her head to cease his confession, the smile still softening her lips. "You don't have to tell me, I know you're not still sleeping with her." She brushed his hands away when he again tried to cover the gash in his head. "Because if you were, she wouldn't be trying so hard to be my friend, or at least to convince me that she _was_ my friend…She would be trying to avoid _any_ encounter with me in the chance that I might sense something."

Relief swelled in his chest and he merely nodded, at a loss for words, thankful that the fragile foundation of the new bond they were building hadn't been shattered in that millisecond. He winced and hissed when her finger touched the skin around the gash and he backed away from her comforting hand.

She smirked and shook her head, spying the first aid kit on the wall. "It would be a shame for you to go into your match already bleeding. Will you let me look at it at least?"

"It's a scratch." He grumbled. "I've had worse cuts shaving."

Nancy pulled the kit from the wall and rounded the bench motioning for him to sit once more. He didn't comply.

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding." She reasoned.

"It's a scratch." He again repeated.

The kit made a thump when she placed it on the bench. "Do the guys on the roster know what a big baby you are?" She planted her hands on her hips.

"No, and you're not gonna rat me out either." He groused and then sat on the bench.

Nancy eased between his knees mere inches from his body, taking his head within her capable palms. She tilted his head enough to see that the wound, though bleeding was truly little more than a scratch. "Big baby." She whispered as she reached into the kit retrieving gauze and alcohol.

Dave didn't reply. He simply sat, comfortably, even on the hard bench, with his mind and body suddenly lulled into a sweet peacefulness by the close proximity of his wife and the very warm smell of her cologne.

"Something else wrong?" Nancy asked as she dabbed the cotton ball against the bottle top to saturate it with alcohol.

He sighed. In the past he had always been content to tell her everything; to ask her opinion. Just as she had been with him, but now he was worried that if he did so, in some crazy way he'd be burdening her with things she shouldn't have to worry about. Her eyes were placid and crystalline when he looked directly at her, her wrist brushed like velvet against the side of his face as she dabbed his head, her rounded stomach was touching his chest as she ministered to him and before he knew what was happening he was spilling his guts. "My opponent wants me to 'job out' to him tonight." He admitted, oddly unable to even feel the sting of the liquid as she soothed the scrape with it.

"Oh?" She prompted.

"I'm not going to, but I think he's going to try to pull a submission in the ring and it's touchy because the fans deserve something that looks real…I'd have to sell a submission if he put me in one." Dave searched her eyes assessing if she thought he was ridiculous. She nodded, still listening and so he continued. "He's set to go over and I'd rather lose to a pin than a submission anytime."

"Do you want to lose by a pin?" She asked pressing the dry gauze on the scrape until the trickle of blood was staunched completely.

"Ted doesn't care, so long as Chris wins." Dave told her, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the feel of one of her hands pressed against his wound and the other cradling the back of his head. Without thinking, his hands came up to rest on her hips and thankfully she didn't pull away.

"What if you win by disqualification?" Nancy said, her mind having been possessed of the idea when she spied the chair that her husband had knocked over, as it still lay on the floor.

His brow lifted as he pondered for a split second, the suggestion. "How so?" He was testing his wife now, giving her the opportunity to feel needed; and he did need her…Especially right now.

"Do you think the fans would be upset if you retaliated against him as a means of protecting yourself?"

"He's a heel, a bad guy…so they might be happy to see me retaliate to a point." Dave explained, wondering what wicked turn his wife's thoughts might be taking.

"So…retaliate, and let yourself be disqualified…" Her hands stilled in her ministrations. "He wins the match…you win the battle."

The battle. That's what he thought he'd been having with _her_. His eyes locked on hers as she stood between his knees, staring down at him. Suddenly aware, he could feel the warmth of the outside of her thighs, pressed against the inside of his, the belly that kept grazing against the muscles of his chest as she worked. There was the tingle of heat that zipped through his body when her hands touched his face and the flare of her hip and backside that seared his palms as they rested there. But nothing compared to the thrill of having her come to his defense, not only when she'd seen him hurt a moment ago, but when she knew that someone had the impending intention to make him look bad. It was in the way she had given her suggestion too. She hadn't told him how to do it, or suggest that he err to safety and just roll over. She'd simply inserted another idea, one he hadn't thought of because he'd been too embroiled in his own fury. Like always she was clearing the smoke for him, just gently making a path through the haze so he could see what he had missed and make his own decision. The battle. Not so important to him anymore, once he discovered she was on his side. He nodded up at her and let out a breath.

"You're so smart." His voice was a deep, rich, sweet sound in her ears. And she felt her face flame when the compliment lanced through her exterior, hitting her heartstrings. "I should have you plan my matches from now on."

A grin and she pulled her hand away from the now dry wound. His face less austere than she'd seen it moments ago was the most fetching sight she'd laid eyes on and she could scarcely breathe as she studied it. Her hands cupped either side of his face and she could feel the twitch of his jaw beneath the flesh of her palm; could hear the pounding of her own heart in her ears as she dared to run the pad of her thumb over his lips. Her body vibrated with the almost uncontrollable urge to press her mouth against his, to taste the emotion she could see in his eyes. He wanted it too, she knew. His eyes seemed to be lit with a luminosity that suggested he was waiting for her to make a move…maybe even praying she would.

So close…only a fraction of an inch before her lips met his, the raucous knocking on the locker-room door, sliced through the tender moment like a hot knife through butter. Followed by the sound of his name being called, the knock had startled Nancy to her former stoic position and she backed up a few inches.

Having an altogether different effect on Dave, the knock had him snarling his wrath over being interrupted, yet again. "What!" his ire was clearly evident.

The producer announced that he was up for his match in five minutes, but wisely made no attempt to open the door. Dave's sigh of sheer deprivation spoke volumes and he stood to his feet, taking measures to cool his ardor and ease the trembling in his body. The threshold moment had all but been demolished by the intrusion of time, but her fingers threading through his, the soothing twinkle in her green eyes and the soft blush of scarlet high in her cheeks told him that he'd broken though an unseen barrier. Whether the moment had been interrupted or not, something important had happened, they'd made progress again. And then his inner beast suggested he slam his head into things more often and he might stand a chance of getting laid, but he stayed silent keeping that particular précis to himself.

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"Where the hell were you?" Candace hissed into the cell phone. "You were supposed to be in that locker room apologizing to Dave…and you blew it!"

Christy chuckled, shaking her head as she slid into the back seat of the cab. "Don't you mean, I was supposed to be in there so his _wife_ could walk in on us talking and get the wrong idea?" She suspected that Candace had alternate plans for her and was merely using her to accomplish her own selfish goals. "Dave never even wanted to see me, did he?" She asked softly, reluctant to hear the truth.

Candace scoffed. "Of course he did, Christy…I-I wouldn't have set all of this up unless he did." The lie rolled like warm honey from her lips.

"Or unless you had something to gain from it." Christy amended, knowing her friend well, gave her the advantage of being able to determine when she was circling the issue. "Was it the idea of putting him off balance before a match that caught your fancy, or just the thought of proving you could accomplish what I couldn't by ruining his relationship when I failed in my past attempt?"

"I can't believe you'd think that lowly of me."

Christy barked a laugh. "You seem to forget I _know_ you, and I was actually giving you more credit than you deserved." She jabbed a finger in the air, tightening her jaw. "I'm the one who should be shot and hanged, for letting you rope me into this sham of a meeting in the first place!"

"We're friends!" Candace pounced. "I was doing _you_ a favor! And you made me look like a complete fool! Now it'll take months to get the right opportunity for the two of you to settle your differences, all because you have no concept of trust in our friendship."

"_That_ was a favor?" Christy mocked. "Well then I guess I did Dave a favor tonight too." Though Christy may have wanted the satisfaction of his vocal confirmation that he accepted her apology and forgave her, she knew that by ejecting herself from the scandal that her presence in his locker-room would have created, she was amending her past mistake. Another thing that reassured her was that even if Dave never knew what she had done on his behalf simply by leaving the arena, she had planted her seed in secret and that was apology enough.

"You're awfully pious all of a sudden." Candace spat. "I know your past so don't even try to convince me you've reformed your wicked ways!"

"Candace."

"You've been spending too much time around Sting and now you're some Bible-toting-Miss, on a mission to save the planet!"

"Candace."

"We both know you'd jump through burning hoops just to get at him! And you could have had a chance too, because his marriage is about to go down in flames!" Candace could feel the vein in her neck pulsating as she hollered.

"Candace." When the break in Candace's tirade gave way, Christy stated calmly. "The only thing that took a burning nose-dive tonight was our friendship. Goodbye."

"Christy…Christy!" Her voice went unanswered as her shoulders heaved with the effort to still her trembling and right her erratic and angry breathing. Her plan was unraveling and she had lost a friend because of it. And in her line of work, one friend lost was one friend too many. In a blinding moment of rage, Candace heaved the tiny cell phone into the cinderblock wall of the women's locker-room, glorying in the satisfactory crash as it split apart, scattering shards of plastic on the floor below. She tipped the bench over in her anger, growling with fury. But even that wasn't enough. It wouldn't—couldn't be enough until she made somebody pay.

Since her plan to have Christy in the dark locker room had failed and Dave's wife wasn't leaving the arena in a flurry of emotions bound for a divorce attorney, she would just have to resort to something else. Nancy was likely going to be present for the match; and since she had lost her concept of wrestling logic along with her memory, she was also likely to be very bothered by an injury that her precious Dave might sustain in the middle of the match…_especially_ if it happened to be an injury inflicted by a woman that Nancy felt threatened by.

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His opponent was already in the ring, having been accompanied by Candace and Nancy made a strenuous effort to ignore the knowing smirk that the woman wore as she passed the front-row seat that she occupied. Nancy's gaze alighted on the ramp the moment she heard the entrance music that seemed to fit him so well; an intimidating, exciting riff that brought the crowd to their feet and forced Nancy to have to stand in order that she could see him.

Audrey had once commented on how very 'scary' her Daddy looked when making his entrance, but the sight of it on a television screen couldn't compare to the electricity she felt watching in person. The entire arena seemed to be engulfed by the crowd's deafening roar and the air undulated with an unseen energy that forced her lips into a smile and puffed her chest up with pride for him. Wildly popular with the women, Dave was harvesting quite a volume of female squeals and unabashed solicitations. It merely made her prouder, especially when he came to the ring and locked his darkened eyes on her, winked slowly and then ascended the steel steps into the ring.

The crowd was still on its feet, still cheering, as he hit the four corners playing to the fans, who Nancy realized couldn't seem to get enough of him. When the bell finally rang, the crowd in the ringside floor section was seated and she could concentrate on the match. The little boy beside her boasted a black and white T-shirt with the _'Animal'_ Logo, and gripped in his right fist, a Dave Batista bobble-head doll and a plastic figurine in his left. She smiled at him and turned to face the ring, when she felt a tap on her arm.

"Batista's gonna win." The boy informed her with a serious nod as he pointed toward the ring with his Batista-Bobble-Head. "Chris Masters is a chump."

"Oh, I see." Nancy said. "So that 'Batista Guy' is pretty tough then, huh?"

The boy's face gave way to a look of incredulous curiosity. "You mean you _never_ saw him before?"

"Oh, maybe once or twice." Nancy see-sawed her hand silently amused with the irony. No one in the crowd, including the friendly boy beside her, could have had a clue who she was and she was content to simply blend in. The anonymity made her feel almost normal.

"I just hope that he _'Batista Bombs'_ Masters." The boy said, wiggling in his seat to adjust.

"Me too." Her words couldn't have been truer as she watched the two men lock up with the force of two knights on their destriers, with Candace pacing the ring like a venomous lady in waiting.

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Pulled into a headlock and then a headlock takeover, before he could register what was happening, was something Chris Masters hadn't expected. He hadn't really expected Dave Batista to be so damned stiff in the ring either. He was pretty sure that a black eye was in the works for him before the close of the evening. Dave had sold a drop toe hold and received a cage-rattling slap from Candace when he'd ventured close to the ropes, but other than that, the first few minutes of the match resembled a bar fight much more than the technically sound match that Ted Dibiase had been expecting.

Chris delivered a powerful clothesline to his opponent and then went for the elbow drop but was rewarded with only the mat. Dave was up in an instant and kicking him in the back. Hard, sharp stomps to his lower back that needed little effort to sell. Chris's kidneys were seeking a place to hide and he felt the impact all the way through his mid-section when Dave's booted foot came up stridently into his abdomen. His only objective was to get Dave into a position where he'd be able to lock in his submission so Dave would be forced to sell the move and be graced with the humiliation of knowing that his character was being made to look like a jobber. But that wasn't what was happening. Chris Masters was finding himself in a damn near squash match, where every blow connected, every bump hurt, and every time he was prepared to run a spot that would put him in the position of submitting Dave, he found himself on the receiving end of another stiff flurry of punches and kicks.

Now as it stood, he was reconsidering his career and hoping like all hell that he could keep his head on for another twenty minutes, otherwise his alliance with Candace was going to be circling the toilet along with his chances of impressing the McMahon family.

Sashaying around the far side of the ring, Candace considered that as a last resort, since Christy had shot down her plans…she could play on the feelings that she had witnessed, when she'd peeked back into the locker room after being ushered out by Nancy.

She might have been wrong to think that it was almost over between Dave and his wife. There was no denying that there was tenderness in their interaction. And though she'd not been able to make out the gentle murmurs of their dialogue, she was prepared to believe that the two of them were in love, or something like it. Casting a glance toward Nancy, she let her eyes narrow almost seductively, and then gave way to the poutiest smirk she could muster, as she hopped up onto the apron to distract the referee.

But that wasn't her only intent. Distracting the ref was going to bring Dave Batista to her side of the ring and give her a long awaited opportunity to humiliate him…in front of his wife. And she did just that. Dave came stomping over with the purpose of getting Candace away from the referee and after he twisted the referee around, Candace latched onto Dave's thick neck, with both hands and with a strength only a demon could possess, she tugged him close and planted her lips forcefully on his, holding him there, struggling until he finally managed to extricate himself. She had calculated the repercussions well and managed to hop down from the apron before he could lay hands on her, but the reaction from the crowd in the form of a huge heel pop, told her she'd achieved a part of her goal, but it was the very subtle flare of delicate nostrils, the blink of green eyes and the forced stiff smile from Dave's wife that assured her she'd done the deed in full.

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Although every cell in Nancy's body screamed out with a silent desire to body slam the beautiful Diva, she maintained a composure that surprised even her. It would do no good to let the woman believe that she was livid at having seen the spectacle in front of her. And livid she was. Especially since the kiss that she'd finally summoned the courage to try in the locker room had been cut short by the intrusion of a producer. And here and now, Candace had locked lips with _her_ husband in front of her! But wrestling was wrestling and so even though Nancy knew that the uncomfortable angry vibrations in her body were jealousy, she also knew that Candace's kiss was little more than an attempt to elicit a reaction.

The black and furious eyes of her husband locked only momentarily on Candace after he had swiped one large arm out in an attempt to grasp any one of her lingering appendages. And then they locked on Nancy, not angrily—almost pleading as if he wished for her to know that he hadn't meant for it to happen. A swift wink and a smile was Nancy's reassurance to him, but the momentary distraction created by the kiss had achieved a secondary goal. Chris Masters rolled up underneath Dave and pulled him down into a _'School-Boy'_ pin.

Powerful legs from years of training were the only thing that saved Dave from losing to the three-count. Both legs shot forward sending Chris off of him and Dave rolled to his feet immediately retaliating with a clothesline, followed by a sidewalk slam when Chris got to his feet. An attempt at a pin failed upon a kick-out, and when both men squared off again, Nancy watched ruefully as Candace who must surely be evil to the core, began to distract the ref after sliding a chair into the ring in the far corner behind his back.

Nancy found herself on the edge of her seat willing Dave to turn and realize that they were enacting a plan that he'd had no clue of. Chris Masters had the chair in an instant, but before he could lift it high enough to slam it down into Dave's forehead, Dave speared him. It was such a lightening fast reaction that Nancy knew Chris hadn't been possessed of the ability to anticipate it. One explosive burst of power from a position where Dave was little more than two steps away had been all it took to disarm Chris. Now he was on his back with Dave on top of him pounding away, and the chair was lying harmlessly a mere foot away.

Insinuating herself into the fray, Candace slid into the ring and headed for the chair, but the ref who was as confused by the change in spots as anyone could be, latched on to her arm and yanked roughly in an attempt to send her back to the corner. The young ref was rewarded with a resounding slap that sent his head reeling and had the desired effect of freeing her arm. Dave hopped up from his senseless pounding of his opponent long enough to turn around and lay eyes on Candace who now had the chair and was fully prepared to use it.

What happened next was something truly comedic in nature and Dave might have found himself prepared to laugh had he not been so irate with the pair. The chair was high in the air, in Candace's care but with his height he easily grasped it and pulled it out of her much weaker grip. Dave then latched on to her wrist and sent her whipping forward toward Chris who had barely stood up. Her body almost bounced off of the front of Chris's, but he managed to catch her shoulder and keep her upright. Chris, knowing the distraction that she presented for _him_, sent her flying into the referee, who also apparently wanted nothing to do with her. The ref caught hold of her and sent her stumbling forward straight into the chair that Dave had been holding between two hands.

The resounding _'clap'_ as her body collided with the chair that was merely being held by Dave, garnered an immense pop. Her body crumpled to the mat and in Chris's shocked state he seemed almost paralyzed, his body rigid and still as his eyes flitted from Candace in a heap on the mat, to the ref who was fighting not to laugh and then to Dave with the—.

Nancy cringed when the chair came down in an arc, connecting with a force that would have split a tree in two. She saw no weaving of the man's body, only the sharp pitch of his massive frame as he fell flat on his back, causing the ring to shake. The boy beside her was jumping up and down, cheering for the _'Batista Bomb'_ and Nancy watched in horror and excitement as Dave dragged a nearly unconscious Chris Masters to his feet, even as the bell was being rung wildly signaling Dave's loss by disqualification. He planted Chris's head firmly between his thighs and hoisted him up, in a revolving display of raw power and then after a mere second, brought him down into the mat like a wrecking ball into a wall.

Even though the announcer spoke into the microphone broadcasting her husband's loss, Nancy was smiling from ear to ear and positive that Dave was just as nonchalant about being disqualified as she was. His eyes scanning down the front row of the ringside, until he found her, and then he grinned like a boy caught doing something he shouldn't and pointed straight at her.

The sudden jolt of pride was something she'd not counted on. And warmth—a feeling of being singled out in a sea of thousands, even though it appeared that no one else knew or cared—he did.

The boy beside her, on the other hand was positively elated and not given to any degree of stillness. He was certain the gesture had been meant for him.

"He pointed at me!!" The boy began to bounce uncontrollably and it reminded Nancy of Audrey. "Did you see that?" He tugged on Nancy's arm heedless of his father's request that he not do so.

"I saw that." Nancy said.

"He pointed me out!!" The boy's father tried without result to get the boy to settle down.

Nancy stood to her feet to make her way out into the hopelessly congested aisle, but not before she had a chance to fix her gaze on Candace who was passing directly in front of her, stumbling behind Chris on their way out. Almost wicked in nature, was the manner in which the woman was staring back at her, eyes flashing with storming hatred. Unable to resist, Nancy smiled obligatorily and then winked, turning to the aisle after nearly seeing smoke pour out of the Diva's ears.

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"That plays right into the heel turn when you come back in a month or so." Ted told a heavily breathing Dave as he approached him at the bottom of the ramp. "Nice match…and what was that whole musical chairs thing with Candace? That was hilarious, did you plan that?"

"More like _'Red Rover'_. And no we never planned that, I guess she's just a very adaptive _wrestler_." He said dryly as he emphasized the last word.

A bark of a laugh popped out of Ted's mouth and he clapped Dave on the back. "Go home and have that baby, Dave…we'll see you in a few weeks."

After the well wishes, Dave turned, coming face to face with a fuming Chris Masters and a dazed and infuriated Candace. "When the fuck did the chair come into play, huh, Dave?" Chris swiped his head with a towel, raking it down and then tossing it behind him to Candace who frowned and let it hit the floor.

"Ask _her_?" Dave said. "_She_ tossed it in and _you_ were the first one who picked it up…it's not my fault the chair was in the ring." His voice was innocent of any blame and yet demurely mocking.

"I went easy on you and didn't lock in my submission when I could have. You had no reason to go for the DQ—"

The soft vibration of Dave's chuckle told Chris that he wasn't buying the attempt at an excuse. "Well, thanks for going easy on me." His gentle, mildly invasive sarcasm cut like razor.

"I wanna know who's gonna do something about the fact that you hit me with a chair!" Candace accused, latching onto Ted's arm, nearly dragging him forward to dole out justice on her behalf.

"I didn't hit you. _You_ ran into the chair." Dave reminded, a smile tickling his lips. "I was never made clear on the spots you planned with Chris and Ted." He turned to Ted Dibiase for confirmation of his innocence. "Was I, Ted?"

"No, technically I never mentioned more than a slap." Ted glanced down at Candace. "When you're in the ring, you're fair game…and for the benefit of the fans, you have to make everything look real…So if you're in there and he puts his hands on you then it means you didn't get out quick enough."

A furious huff and a whirl of fabric was all that was left of Candace as she spun on her heel and stalked down the hallway toward the locker-room. Chris on the other hand stood stoic, sizing up Dave Batista, possibly to determine whether he was worth the effort of a confrontation.

"Be careful of her, Chris." Dave said casting a nod toward Candace's retreating figure. "No matter what she promises, she'll only bring hell down around you."

As if contemplating Dave's suggestion, Chris cast his eyes toward the floor. He finally extended a hand toward Dave Batista, murmuring a reluctant concurrence. He seemed to be resigned to the knowledge that whatever union he had with Candace, it was already hissing and sputtering in its own death. After shaking Dave's hand, he too retreated the opposite way of Candace and was out of sight in seconds.

"I certainly got my money's worth this time."

Dave grinned and turned, knowing to whom the familiar voice belonged. "Who are you kidding?" He asked. "You got in for free."

Nancy smiled and approached from her inconspicuous position next to the make-up carts, where she had silently borne witness to the after match interaction. "That was the most entertainment I've had in as long as I can remember." She joked.

"So then you're not still regretting my decision to kidnap you and force you to come with me?" He liked the way she looked up at him, her body inches from his. She didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that he was dripping with sweat and still breathing heavily.

"Not at all, but I'll bet _she_ is." Nancy lifted her chin, indicating the furious Diva who was shooting daggers from her eyes as she passed, bag in hand headed for the parking garage. Evidently Candace was so furious, that she was bent on leaving the arena without even changing clothes.

He could have said that he couldn't care less what anyone else thought, instead he shook his head. "I hope you know that the kiss she planted on me was never planned, I had nothing to do with—"

"Got a great pop though." Nancy admitted as she lifted a brow. "She may not have any obvious redeeming qualities, but she's smart enough to know what gets a reaction."

"You didn't seem amused by it." He remarked grinning sidelong at her as the two headed down the hall, his hand resting lightly on the nape of her neck as they walked.

Nancy wouldn't admit that she was envious and angry, nor would she confess that the Diva's fiery dart had hit its intended mark, sending her blood into a boiling cyclone of resentment. The only thing that had soothed Nancy's well concealed wound was the fact that she knew Dave had not planned nor enjoyed the kiss. "Well, I'm content to have the last laugh." She announced calmly, when they reached the locker room door. "Especially since it wasn't me who ended up face down on the mat."


	28. Chapter 27

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 27

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"The roses under my window make no reference to former roses or better ones; they are what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Planes always scared him. In fact, they terrified him; even when they were motionless behemoths on the ground as opposed to zipping through the sky, defying the laws of gravity and physics. He'd never thought it should be natural for something that weighed 50 tons to find itself able to lift off into the air and remain there. So it was certainly no surprise when Owen experienced immense relief to finally be deplaning in the Seattle/Tacoma International Airport. Having his feet securely planted on land smoothed his frayed nerves…but the easy transition through the gate to the _Immigration and Naturalization_ customs checkpoint was the one thing that buoyed his spirits.

It might have been a source of fear and worry for any wanted man, going through customs, but not for him, because today Owen was _not_ Owen McDade. Today, he was Aaron Smythe, a Canadian citizen with a perfectly legitimate birth certificate, a passport, driver's license and a five-hundred dollar suit that molded to his stocky figure like a painted on garment. Aaron Smythe was a well traveled businessman, born in ThunderBay Ontario who made his living as a pharmaceutical sales representative out of Toronto and he _was_…a complete figment of Owen's imagination.

"Thank you, Mr. Smythe." The male INS officer handed back the proper documentation and watched as 'Aaron' took it in hand with fluid ease, sliding it inside of his suit jacket. "Enjoy your business trip, Sir."

"I will." Aaron/Owen nodded with an easy smile that smoothed the rough expression he usually bore and a feigned Canadian accent that concealed his Irish heritage and helped him blend in like nondescript flowers in a very bland arrangement; just the way he'd hoped.

There was only one sleek black piece of luggage to pull off the carousel—and no gun; concealed or otherwise. But that was a minor problem that Owen would very quickly remedy. A new city, a new mission; a lot of unknowns staring him in the face. But the comfort in the midst of the chaos was the awareness that no matter where men like Owen went; a couple of things were never likely to change. Drugs and guns were easily procured in _any_ given city, and though he had no use for drugs; Owen had a knack for weaponry of all sorts and for sniffing them out. He knew all of the right questions to ask and just how to ask them so as not to tip off a potential snitch. A gun would be easy to come by, hell even an arsenal would be a piece of cake…it was _Barren_ who might be hard as hell to find.

Owen was in the taxi and on his way to a small hotel, his intense thoughts blurring the events up to this point, or perhaps it was just the pattern of mechanical movements that years of covert operations had honed his body to perform. Sometimes he could go for hours, doing his duties with his mind a million miles away and his body and soul cold as ice and obedient to the quest, in the process. It was something he'd been trained to do as a fledgling soldier for the Irish Military. He could go over a well thought-out plan in his head, while he was lighting up a hillside with gunfire and leaping into trenches to silently slit the throat of some unsuspecting fool who'd not thought to keep an eye on his '6 o'clock'. At times he found it disturbing; that his body could work independently of his conscience and he wondered if the two would ever find themselves on common ground.

But right now his mind was fiercely and immovably fixed on Barren and doing whatever it might take to save her. He'd managed to track down the two IP addresses that corresponded with the internet providers she'd used to contact him in the chat-rooms. Although he'd not been able to track them straight to a physical address, he'd pinned them dead on to a city. Seattle. The first of the IP addresses had been traced to a provider that supplied access all over the country and so that was only miniscule help wrapped in grandiose frustration, but after finally narrowing the IP down a bit more he whittled the series of static IP's to personal accounts as opposed to business accounts and he'd been able to determine it's source in one city. The second address had been only marginally easier. It was one in a series of static IP's that belonged to a business, a city or state funded business. This led Owen to believe that the second computer she'd used had been located in a public building; a college, a tax office or the like, as opposed to an internet café or a copy shop which would certainly not be a city or state run entity. The search had taken days. Long, arduous days.

Armed with the gamut of information, Owen had secured the cabin in Ontario to be ready when he brought Barren safely back, built a façade that made him appear to be the consummate Canadian businessman and braved his paralyzing fear of planes to find her. Even as he instructed the driver to keep the change, Owen found himself fuming. He knew Barren was still alive, for he'd spoken with her via the chat-room less than a half day ago. He was just highly incensed that she had not yet done the job and thus thrust them both back into the line of fire.

Owen wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, wanted to believe that she was suffering horrible frustrations in her pursuit of the key, but the persistent niggling fear in the back of his brain told him that there was another unknown in the equation and that Barren might not be as eager to play her part in bringing McCaughey to his knees. Surely by now she must know that Sullivan and his army of mercenaries were closing in on her, shouldn't she? Surely she was possessed of enough common sense to realize that her scant window of opportunity was swiftly closing. Nudging the glass door of the lobby aside with his foot after using his hand to open it, he lifted his luggage and entered the hotel with the air of a tired traveler and acquired a room suitable to a businessman's tastes.

Once inside he assembled the veritable headquarters he'd packed up to bring with him, allowing the laptop to tap into the hotel's free wireless internet, he used a scrambler to cover his tracks and set his electronic command center up for the daunting task of narrowing down the first IP address to whatever residence Barren had been in for the use of it.

Allowing the computer to scan the address and begin a process that he knew could take hours or days, Owen shrugged out of the dapper suit coat and folded it neatly, laying it over the back of the desk chair. He then reevaluated his stash of cash, knowing that he had plenty, at which point he changed his clothing to suitable attire for hitting the streets in search of a proper cache of weaponry with which he could protect Barren, and with which he could send to hell everyone from McCaughey's party that he knew would be bearing down on her location shortly.

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The entire kitchen, dining room and living area was a scene that indicated that the entire mess of the past month might actually be settling into some semblance of normalcy. Loud laughter and conversation filled the space as Randy was regaled with the tales of Dave's narrow escape from the rabid jaws of Candace, along with a vivid description of her face-first meeting with the chair, and his loss by disqualification. But the dining room was even louder with the excited chatter and 'thank you's' from Audrey who dearly loved her new magic hat, and a more subdued response from Vanessa who was moderately content to understand the circumstances behind the destruction of her Looney bag; only because she was holding a brand new one meant as the replacement.

Barren was in the living room with Nancy, giving her a play-by-play of the happenings in residence, leaving out the near homicide of the bunny, and noticing the high cerise color in her pregnant friend's cheeks. There was a distinct freshness in her smile and a twinkle in her eyes, despite the late hour that they'd arrived and the early hour at which they'd all awoken.

"I would be more than happy to help you unpack this morning if you'd like." Barren offered, more out of desperation to get her hands on the key than out of friendliness.

A swift glance of perplexity lifted the corner of Nancy's mouth. "Well, I guess…that you could help me, if you want." Both women ascended the stairs to the master, both women harboring a distinctly different emotion inside that neither could see. Nancy was elated and cheerful, looking forward to the birth of her baby, which she knew was right around the corner. Barren on the other hand was concealing a tsunami of emotion, fed-up with waiting for that cursed piece of metal and angry that she seemed evermore overwhelmed by a task, with which she was sure she was destined to fail.

"Good Lord! What's in here?" Barren groaned as she lifted the heavy suitcase up onto the wardrobe island inside of Nancy's closet.

Her laugh was an absentminded, husky silkiness and the pleasant sound of it turned Barren's head. Something must have happened this weekend while Nancy and her husband had been gone. There was a gentle wistfulness in the woman's demeanor, an unknown song on her lips that she hummed in a pleasing tune. Barren noticed that Nancy's steps seemed unhindered by the former insecurity that she'd felt and even her eyes seemed to glitter a clear, vibrant green.

"Did you get laid?" The words, scandalous and undoubtedly crass popped from Barren's lips with a rebelliousness of their own and once she realized her error, she coughed her apology grasping to cover the blunder that was as blatant as black ink on white silk.

Nancy's eyes widened and her mouth popped open, but instead of a sputtered remark of berating, a laugh; smooth, warm and full fell from her lips.

"I am _so_ sorry…" Without the benefit of a mirror, Barren knew her face flamed crimson. "That didn't quite…come out the way I meant for it to…what I meant was—I mean you look like _you_—and he sort of looks like _he_—" Barren gave up on trying to explain that both Dave and Nancy looked like they'd spent all weekend beneath a blanket.

Nancy's attitude was innocuous enough, but her eyes sparkled warm with amusement and the queer twitch of her lips told Barren she was suppressing a laugh. "This weekend was a milestone…I'll just say that." Nancy admitted, reluctant to hint toward all that had transpired and just as hesitant to entertain someone else's summations where her weekend was concerned.

Barren nodded, still cloaked in embarrassment. "Good…I know that's what everyone was hoping for."

"Everyone?" Nancy asked, unzipping her make-up bag and glancing sideways toward Barren.

"Well, I know that Randy was really hoping this would help and I…was too." Barren was telling a half truth. Though Randy's intent had been pure in nature, Barren's biggest reason for getting Nancy and Dave out of their very own house had been for the purpose of creating a free forum for which she could snoop uninhibitedly, find her key and take off into the sunset before she got anymore attached to the new people in her life.

"Ah…" Nancy said, in a lackluster tone. "So it was conspiracy all the way around, then?" She hadn't wanted to think that Dave had _everyone_ involved in his attempt to regain her affections, and though she was mildly vexed by the thought of external involvement, she was also similarly flattered that he would go to such extremes.

"No…" Barren defended, chuckling. "No one orchestrated things just to get your husband and you to, um…"

Nancy flashed a grin, pinning Barren with a mirthful gaze. "Is there sex on your mind Barren?" Her stuttering speech told Nancy that the pretty and athletic woman in front of her had a mindset that hinted toward the sexual neglect she might be feeling.

"No." Barren blanched. "I mean…maybe." A shamefaced grin made the tight line of her jaw even tighter, but it softened the apples of her cheeks which were at present as red as the tiny ruby in her pendant.

Nancy shook her head, muttered the word 'liar', and then grinning, she patted Barren on the arm and headed into the bathroom to find a home for her cosmetics. "I'm shocked the two of you were able to get Audrey to go to class." Nancy said loudly, making her voice heard from the recesses of the Master bath. "And she didn't give you a single ounce of trouble?"

"Not really." Barren fibbed, sliding her hands discreetly into the side pouches of Nancy's suitcase, praying that the key would be in one of those.

"Not even a little?" Nancy was puzzled that Audrey had been so compliant with Randy and Barren and yet so resistant when she herself was home.

"Nothing that we couldn't handle." Barren dug furiously through the pockets of the jackets inside of the hanging garment bag and then, finding nothing she turned and demurely began lining shoes in the cubbies.

"Really?" Nancy's head poked into the closet, a look of bewilderment clouding her delicate features.

"She was agreeable." Barren shrugged, stacking garments. "What can I say?"

"How did you do it?" Nancy planted her hands on her hips as eager to hear their secret solution as a scientist might be to know the cure for a disease.

"I didn't do anything." Barren's hands went up in surrender. "Both of those girls have a tremendous amount of respect for Randy, I think that's why Audrey went in without a struggle."

Nancy frowned, pretending disbelief. "Are you sure that he didn't bribe her or something?"

Remembering the sight of Randy limping across the parking-lot, dragging his leg with Audrey firmly wrapped around it prompted Barren to laugh and the tender memory cloaked her in warm fondness for the man. "I promise, there was no bribery involved—" Barren said, silently recalling the scene at Audrey's soccer game, where Randy had been surrounded by blabbering 7 and 8 year olds as he signed Toby's vast supply of WWE merchandise and how selfless he had been, autographing half of the team's soccer jerseys and even a few cleats that had eagerly been thrust his direction. She remembered he'd been patient, answered rapid-fire questions with almost exhaustive long-suffering. He'd not been denigrating in any form to the children; the ones who knew him and the others who did not. Barren couldn't imagine how foolish Samantha could be for leaving him, but she was finding herself evermore grateful that she had; had good old Samantha not run off, Barren might never have been run over. And then she would never have had the opportunity to fall head over heels for Randy Orton—and be wondering how it was possible that she could still be in love with Owen.

The doorbell was a stark intrusion and Nancy excused herself, somewhat hesitantly, knowing that the visitor would likely be Angie, the girls' mother, her husband's ex-wife and someone she hadn't yet become reacquainted with. Letting the nervous breath seep from between her gloss covered lips, Nancy straightened the soft white sweater and flicked a stray hair off of her skirt. "I'll be back."

Barren watched as Nancy ventured out into the common area of the townhouse and then to her retreating figure, she whispered. "Take your time…"

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If he hadn't noticed it before, he was a fool. Definitely noticeable now, Dave's eyes locked on the tummy that had not been so low in previous days. Her steps were bringing her down the stairs toward them and the angle from which she descended gave him a perfect chance to observe that the baby had dropped. If memory served him correctly a baby dropping directly preceded a delivery. That meant that his days of sleeping soundly were numbered. But even the sight of that had not registered with him, how truly near the delivery she was; it was the energetic glow in her face and the sudden effortlessness of her movements, the cheerfulness in her eyes and the burst of newness that had wound itself around her, lending to her an almost visible dreamy quality. He would admit that the sight of her had him awestruck…he was positive she was more beautiful than she had been just last night, when she'd actually let him help her onto the plane; something she'd not been prone to do since her accident.

Dave found himself struggling for his voice when her light steps brought her to a halt in front of him as he held the front door wide-open. He had completely lost touch with the fact that Angie had already entered, greeted him and with a chuckle of mirth breezed past him to embrace their daughters. Dave had to clear his throat and be reminded by Randy that he should probably shut the front door, since he wasn't paying to heat the entire neighborhood.

"You, okay?" Nancy inquired, noticing the sudden stupor that Dave appeared to be in; after his nod and murmur, she turned to the inevitable reintroduction of herself to someone she was desperately praying would like her.

Angie placed a giggling, wildly exuberant Audrey on the floor and bypassed Nancy's extended hand, embracing her amidst her surprise. "We give hugs in this family." Angie informed and then with an unmistakable smile of friendship, she promised to make a date for which they could get caught up. "I don't want to run off, but I have a lot of laundry. Two suitcases full."

Intent mainly on retrieving her daughters, Angie was reluctant to stay for long, but it was Dave's curious approach and the sudden revelation of the tiny golden ring with a marquise shaped solitaire that glinted brightly in the light that had him halting his ex-wife in the foyer.

"What's this?" He grinned and pointed to her left hand. "Are you engaged?" He was inquisitive and amused, knowing that she had been dating the math teacher for almost two years and that it would not have been out of the ordinary for an engagement to have taken place during their extended trip to Hawaii. He would have been relieved to know that she was getting on with her life, because even though she was no longer his wife, she would always be his friend and he would always want what was best for her happiness.

The corner of Angie's mouth twisted into a wry smile that gave him the idea that she was less enthused about moving on than Dave had been. "Well, it's what _he_ wants, but I'd rather look at it as a promise…sort of a commitment to commit." She sighed and helped Audrey don her coat. "I know I'm ready in most ways, but in others…" Angie lifted a brow and sighed. "…I'm not so ready."

"Take your time." Dave encouraged softly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Just not too much time. He's a nice guy." The math teacher and Dave Batista were almost diametric opposites. The teacher was less than 6 feet tall and lanky for his height, whereas Dave was well over the mark on both counts. Dave loved sports of all kinds, but the math teacher was a fan of musicals, opera and wine tasting. Maybe it was a mystery why Angie could fall for the math teacher, or maybe it was a clearer revelation than Dave would have liked to know. Whichever the case was, he knew the man was on the up and up and adored both of Dave's daughters…and so what sorts of music he liked and the fact that he could quote Shakespeare was of no consequence.

Angie nodded her agreement and watched as her little girls said goodbye to the woman who had taken her place years ago after she had relinquished it. If Dave could find himself happy after years of divorce and could move on with such ease, maybe she could too. Certainly she wasn't still in love with Dave, but there was no denying the knee jerk reaction that she felt whenever she thought of marriage and the possibility of another one failing.

"Don't have my brother until next weekend when I come back, okay?" Audrey instructed, as she hugged Nancy tightly around the neck.

"I'll try, I promise." Nancy agreed, kneeling on her haunches so that she could indulge in the hug. "Promise me that you'll go to school without a fight."

"No problem." Audrey spouted, a look on her face that contradicted her erstwhile resistance to the idea. She backed up, long enough to whirl around in her cape once, adjusting it and letting it settle regally.

Nancy chuckled and stood to her feet to embrace Vanessa who was still only mildly placated by the replacement of her bag. There had been a ripple of anger that morning toward her stepmother, whom Vanessa was sure had helped Audrey in her quest to hide the bag and even Nancy's attempted explanation hadn't soothed the wound completely.

It was difficult at best to deal with her stepmother in the memory deprived condition and Vanessa felt as if she had been thrust out of the circle. Before, the lines of communication had been free of debris, uncluttered by complications and secrets and now all because of the accident, those lines had been cut completely. Never before would Nancy have allowed Audrey to get off scot-free for an incident such as had happened. Nancy would have marched Audrey right in to apologize and make some sort of restitution. Vanessa wondered to some extent if her stepmother had been scared of reprisal from her father, but mainly she was just positive that her stepmother had become a coward overnight. Nancy wasn't as close to Vanessa as she had been before and the friction, though lubricated at times by her attempts to be kind, was almost burning out the motor of Vanessa's patience. If only her stepmother would start remembering more than a piece or two of the past then things could get back to normal. She even hoped Nancy might remember that she cared as much about Vanessa as she did about her little sister.

Vanessa thrust aside her angry and hurtful thoughts, and then both girls hugged Randy, thanking him for hide & seek, donuts & dart gun fights in the house and then departed with their mother, leaving only the four adults in the house.

Dave Batista turned to his wife who was peeking out of the front curtain as if she might be making sure that his girls got in the car safely and then he took the time to assess and comment on what he'd just noticed when she'd come down the stairs. "I think this baby's coming in a day or two." He pressed a hand on either side of her stomach when she backed away from the window and shook his head, his eyes a mix of contentment and worry. "Your stomach wasn't this low last night." He appraised; and he ought to know, because he'd been chest level with it while she had doctored his wound last night in the locker room before his match.

"I think you're right." Her voice was a cheerful, smooth response. "I noticed he hasn't been able to wedge his foot in my ribs all morning. He must have dropped." She smiled and met his gaze and then suddenly remembering she'd left Barren upstairs with the unpacking, her eyes lit up. "I better go help her, she doesn't know where things go."

Dave grinned at the irony and then unable to resist the urge to tease her, he asked. "What's the difference? Neither do you."

Randy stood aside and watched the interface between his best friend and wife with a self-satisfied smile. He felt the electricity of their rapport and it had him convinced that something, though he could not say what it was, had happened between the pair. He waited for a response he knew might be as smart as the crack from a whip, glimpsing instead how Nancy swung a demure gaze in the direction of his friend. Feigning true surprise, her lips curled into a soft smile of wonder. "Oh, what do we have here? A comedian as well as a wrestler…you should be getting two paychecks." She then winked and spun around on her bare feet, heading up the stairs with a very noticeable sense of vigor to her gait.

Randy had been counting on some sort of wise-assed retort, meant to ruffle the sleek feathers of his friend, but instead what he'd seen was unabashed flirting. He also observed the very amused twinkle in Dave Batista's eyes as he watched his wife from behind, never losing sight of her derriere as she ascended those stairs and then vanished into the upper recesses of the condo. A sigh of contentment met with Randy's ears and he was positive that Dave hadn't really noticed that he emitted it.

When finally Dave let his mesmerized eyes turn away from the landing, he caught sight of Randy who happened to be grinning knowingly.

"You got laid, didn't you?" Randy nodded, his arms over the expanse of his chest.

Dave frowned.

"I _knew_ it." Randy affirmed. "No woman on the planet can resist your charms for long…remind me to keep Barren away from you." He followed behind Dave who had suddenly become interested in straightening random items around the room.

Dave was reluctant to admit that he did _not_ in fact 'get laid' as Randy was so apt to put it. There were just some things that a youngster like Randy Orton wasn't able to understand fully and one of those things was that getting laid, though highly crucial to the harmony in a marriage wasn't the _only_ thing of substance in a marriage. He would be hard pressed to make his young friend realize that even though emotional connections were no substitute for a remarkable sexual encounter, they were the best basis upon which to build or rebuild your relationship. That was a lesson that Dave had been forced to learn this weekend himself. "Don't worry about that." Dave said clapping Randy on the shoulder. "I've got all I can handle with Nancy."

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Wavering in indecision for a split second, Max tapped the cell phone gently against the side of his leg. He finally decided against complacency and dialed his mother's number with swift and angry jabs to the tiny buttons on the key pad. He was hard on cell phones; replacing them almost monthly. He was especially hard on this one, this morning; violent with the phone almost, triggered by his own anger and fear, propelled by the pain that he was feeling over the chasm that had taken center stage in his friendship with Nancy.

"Hello." It was the pleasing and loving voice of his mother; like Mister Blankee she need only be present for him to feel better.

"Mom." Max was deceptively cheerful, but in his own ears his voice sounded flat, lifeless.

His mother must have sensed it too for she instantly expressed concern. "What's wrong?" Years of coddling her only baby-boy had given her the advantage of discernment where he was concerned.

"Oh…" Followed by a sigh that tore the covering off of the emotional wound in his heart. "Just work…I'm tired."

"Max?" Jean Hadaway wasn't buying the flimsy excuse and she gently prodded. "You love your job, but I'm sure that not having Nancy around to help has its disadvantages." It was a soft unobtrusive observance, but it served much like a swift punch to the gut.

Damn her for being so gentle with him, so motherly, so accurate in her assumptions…it made him want to weep and run home, begging her for cookies and milk and a hug, even though he was a grown man. "I never could lie to you."

"Can I help with something?" Jean inquired, fully intent on hopping a plane if the need arose.

He sighed again as he paced the interior of the studio. Just on the other side of that door stood the entire source of his problem and the source of a potential problem for his very best, very naïve and amnestic friend. Sadly, not one of the foursome of laughing adults knew that he had arrived earlier and parked in the adjacent garage, slipping in the studio to begin his work. Max had gone entirely unnoticed. He was a fifth wheel and he knew it…just like Barren had said. The realization of it brought forth a frown and the livid urge to growl.

"Do you—dammit—" He chewed off the curse and plowed a frustrated hand through his hair forcing it up on end. How could he ask the question without causing his mother to worry? It was inevitable; she would worry no matter how he voiced it. "Do you still have the number of that private detective that you hired when that fellow took off with those farm implements?" He asked, referring to a situation that had occurred on his father's ranch less than six months prior.

Concern immediately evident was barely shielding a slight air of panic in Jean Hadaway's voice. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Ma." Max said reassuringly. "I just have a foreign vendor that I need to research and I don't have the time to do the legwork."

He heard his mother sigh before she responded. "You'll tell me if I have something to worry about, won't you?"

"Of course I will." He lied.

She consented…a bit grudgingly. "I do have that still." She shuffled through her book of numbers. "His name is Robert Littlejohn."

Max copied down the number and after reassuring his mother once more, he hung up and dialed the number that would connect him to Mr. Littlejohn and hopefully help him solve the mystery of Barren O'Neal once and for all.

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She hadn't felt this refreshed, this free in years! Wondering why she'd ever let the responsibilities and the disappointments of life weigh her down, had her rethinking everything. From her choice of careers, to her grudges against her baby brother…all the way down to her decidedly mundane wardrobe. Spinning around in front of the mirror in the boutique, Lynn felt…for the very first time in a long time—beautiful. The fabric fell in swirls of red against the flesh of her knees. It hugged the generous swells of her breasts and lay appealingly against the smooth feminine musculature of her back. Her hands molded against her amply curvy hips, confirming that the dress…the very risqué red dress was a perfect fit, both in size and in nature. She might have even believed it had been made with her in mind.

Lynn's wasn't the only eye that approved. Evan sat back on the bench in the boutique with a grin of sheer, masculine appreciation plastered to his face. He'd known, the minute he'd seen the dress on the nondescript mannequin in the window, that it would be perfect for Lynn. Evan would have been the first to proclaim that Lynn Orton was definitely _no_ mannequin. He could see in his mind's eye exactly how the dress would fit, how the deep red tone would draw out and emphasize the appealing blush of her fair skin and would play off of the honey in her hazel eyes, making them appear to be lit from within. He knew that the red dress would set off the amber in her hair and make it glimmer like a halo. And he was right. He raked his eyes reverently down the curvaceous bend of her body as she spun in front of him, noticing that she was almost delighted by the play of the fabric as the skirt rippled with her every move. In his leisurely perusal of her, he decided that she reminded him of a child on Christmas and the high light in her expression fascinated him.

A few days in her company, had made him weak and pitiful by mercenary standards. She was a sorceress for certain. At least that's the excuse he gave himself for being under her spell. In all of his time as a careless rakehell, after all of the women he'd met, intriguing or otherwise, Evan was positive he'd _never_ met anyone like her. He held that belief because he'd never found himself wanting so badly to sneak away from his responsibilities to be with someone. He'd never before felt himself drowning in the sultry gaze of a woman in the throes of passion…he'd never let someone hold such sway over his emotions. And Lynn Orton, through no fault of her own, had Evan wrapped around her precious little finger.

Without the constriction of propriety and conscience and propelled by his own addiction to her he stood languidly to his feet and followed behind her little unsuspecting self…right into the private dressing room of the boutique.

Lynn's gasp of surprise and her unconvincing protest to his entry into the room was silenced swiftly by the pressure of his lips on her mouth.

"This dress is yours now." He whispered against her lips, as desire ripped through him.

"I really shouldn't." Lynn reasoned, as she felt his strong hands cupping her derriere. "I don't have anywhere that I can where it."

He squeezed her bottom roughly through the soft fabric and lifted her off of the ground to seat himself between her legs. "I know of a place." He announced in a whisper, as his hands worked feverishly to rid her of the barrier that her panties presented by sliding them to the side. He had been halfway prepared for her to insist that they couldn't do something like this in a dressing room, but instead she held her tongue and her smoldering hazel eyes took on a ravenous gleam as she gripped the hanging bar above her head, consenting to his desire; her need.

Freeing his erection from his pants happened amidst a blur of kisses and whispered demands, but he was fully aware of the sweet twinge of pleasure that flooded through him the moment he pulled her on top of his rigid length. The caress of the fabric against his belly as he moved within her only added concentration to the sharpening of every one of his senses. He watched in wonder and with a great deal of satisfaction as Lynn's head lolled to the side, her kiss swollen lower lip caught between her teeth as she tried to conceal a near purr when it rose up in her.

Her sultry, hazel gaze clouded over and her eyes suddenly resembled two molten gold gems; fiery and smoking. The flush of wanting pooled in the flesh of her chest and neck and the sand colored tresses, shiny and silky caressed her shoulders; the soft gilt set off by the deep red of the beautiful dress and the movement of her body with each deliberate stroke.

"Fuck me…" Her demand was so gentle that it made the curse seem like praise in his ears. And he obliged gladly, grinding into her with all of the pressure he could muster, swallowing her cry of pain or surprise, he wasn't sure which it was.

Intensely blinded by the sight of her and deafened by his own blood pumping in his ears, he was oblivious to the whispers of shock between patrons who were standing in a circle outside of the dressing room…listening. But Lynn was not unaware, and some unknown heathen, barbaric source inside of her demanded she rebel…insisted that she do the very most disreputable of things. The sense of freedom she felt with Evan eclipsed any logic or decency and tipped her moral compass right on it's ear. Lynn Orton was through being perfect, through being commendable; but mostly, she was through being a coward. Realizing that the people on the other side of the door surely already knew what the source of the rhythmic thumping against the wall meant and certainly knowing that they were probably listening gave her an immense thrill.

Another hard thrust from Evan had her mind reeling with the unspeakable and she decided that she wasn't really that bothered by people knowing. Lynn gripped the bar tighter when she felt him slam back into her and it was impossible to call back the moan that his fierce action wrenched from her throat. The noise brought a rakish grin to Evan's face, and he repeated himself, over and over until her gasps and cries, though somewhat muffled by the closed door of the dressing room and his erratic, intermittent kisses were still quite distinct to those on the other side.

Lynn had all but lost her bearings when she felt the swift building of orgasm in the center of her body and Evan was quite convinced she might rip the bar out of the wall when he saw the muscles of her arms flex and tighten as soon as the release hit her. Like a rogue wave, the orgasm washed over her, taking her under, submerging her in a hot undulation that sent her insides pulsating and tore a ragged whimper from her lips. It was the convulsing of her sheath around his shaft and the shower of golden sparks he saw in her eyes that sent him into a mind numbing orgasm, mere seconds after her own.

It was an undeterminable amount of time before she came back to her senses; him too and he pressed his mouth so fiercely and possessively against hers that it stole her breath. Evan righted her clothing as he set her gently to her feet, never taking his greedy eyes off of hers. He trapped her gaze with his own, because he loved the satisfied glimmer he saw there, and because staring at her gave him peace. Evan was positive that he might not ever be able to let her go and that was going to play hell with his plans, because he was going to be required to kill her baby brother if he discovered that he was with Barren and because if Evan even dared to tell Sullivan that he was bewitched by his need for Lynn, Sully would never go for it. Sullivan would put a bullet through Lynn's beautiful body without a fleeting thought.

Evan ran a hand over Lynn's hair in the back to smooth the errant strands coaxed to life by static, he adjusted his own clothing and then reached out to pluck the price tag from the sleeve of the red dress. "Let's go." He said grinning as he pulled her other clothing into a pile and tucked it under his arm.

"It's too expensive…I can't buy this dress." She insisted as he opened the door and wound his fingers through hers, leading her out to the sight of a crowd of ladies who had been eavesdropping.

"You're not. I am." Came Evan's cursory response. He then brazenly dropped a swift kiss on her mouth and shouldered his way through the ogling crowd of snoops.

Days ago, Lynn would have been mortified and fully prepared to bury her head in the sand, but now she simply hitched her chin up and trained her eyes forward. She gave no resistance when Evan handed the cashier the tag and a nicely folded wad of cash, bid the old woman good day and swept Lynn out of the boutique without so much as a backward glance.

Barefoot, in the cold…the budding hours of evening casting a rusted hue over the snow, Lynn was scarcely able to process what she was feeling. She was being swept off of her feet—literally! Evan lifted her into his arms and carried her the few steps down the sidewalk to the shop next door, citing her sudden need for appropriate shoes to pair with her new dress.

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Max passed the paper bag, inside of which nestled a soda can, to the police officer who was a particular friend of the private detective that he'd just commissioned to dig up Barren's past. "Her prints are on this." Worry gave Max's voice a hard edge.

The officer nodded, giving Max a suitable time for which he could expect a result and then retreated to the lab, paper bag in hand. Max turned on his heel and strode out of the police station with a new air of determination and a bit of satisfaction for having had the guts to do something about his suspicions. He wouldn't leave town again on business or otherwise until he either had what he was looking for or had deemed the woman unworthy of his mistrust; that and because he was eager to be somewhere around when his best friend had her baby.

Things hadn't panned out in the romance department for Max and so he had to live vicariously through someone else. And Nancy, having been his best friend for a long while, happened to be that person. His heart ached for the neglect of their friendship and his mind scrambled for a way to rebuild it, but even so, he knew all he could do was wait. Max realized that Nancy was dealing with so many doubts in her everyday life and he was hesitant to play a card that might upset the pot. And though he was missing the constant banter and the readiness to include him into their family unit whenever he happened to be in town, he wouldn't push his luck.

He would wait. And he would fight like hell to ignore the doubt that crept in after Barren's calloused suggestions. Max didn't want to believe that Nancy would have no memory of her past as his friend, forever. Because if that ended up being the case, then it was wholly plausible that she wouldn't feel comfortable with him in her new life. To hell with Barren! To hell with her _and_ her implication that Nancy would want to be rid of him altogether. The pretty woman had something up her sleeve, something to hide and he would be damned if he wasn't going to find it and dangle it over Barren's haughty little head. No—he wouldn't do that. He couldn't do that, because that wasn't his style and because if he did so, he would be no better than she. Max would have to settle for giving Barren an ultimatum; either get out of Nancy's life for good, or be exposed for the liar and the possible criminal she was.

Now, he wasn't one-hundred percent certain she was a criminal, but he was dead set on the notion that she _was_ a liar. And that would be enough, combined with the revelation of her snooping, to set Dave Batista into defense mode. Even if Nancy was skeptical of Max's findings, Max knew that Dave, in his natural inclination to protect his family, would send Barren packing…for good. At least that was the assumption, the hope…unless of course Nancy was so angry upon finding that Max had been investigating her new buddy, that she went commando on both Max and Dave and sided with Barren completely. That was a chance he was going to have to take…and because Nancy was his friend, he would take it…even if it meant evoking her wrath.

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Randy would have thought that after days of abstinence he'd be tearing her apart, but he was content with the smooth and deliberate motions of making love to her from behind as the two of them stood out on the balcony. Light drizzle fell just beyond the covering of the roof ledge and the streetlights reflected through the sheet of moisture in the air, casting a glittering haze around them. It was eerily quiet, save for his murmurs and the occasional passing of a car on the far side of the house.

He noticed Barren's breathing increasing in tempo, felt her shiver and heard her soft laugh when he nuzzled the side of her neck whispering to her…telling her all of the things he planned to do to her. Fully absorbing himself in the compliant rocking of her hips as they slanted backward into him, Randy knew he hadn't felt anything this good since the last time he'd been with her and he never wanted it to cease.

Randy hadn't meant to make love to her on the balcony that faced the woods. He'd only intended to come out after their dinner and stand with her, maybe even just kiss her, embrace her because it was difficult to be near her without being overtaken by a need to touch her in some fashion. But she was so willing, so needy when he'd wrapped his arms around her and held her against the wall of his chest. And she'd told him that she wanted him; her voice a mere tremble as if she'd been crying.

So how he'd managed to find himself in this particular position was a mystery, especially since she'd been facing him only a moment ago. Dizzying…he had been almost addled by the taste of her mouth and the feel of her grasping his hand and urging it to the lapel of her blouse. He remembered that…feeling her breast in his hand; but then the rest was a smear on the timeline, because here they were. Barren leaning against the chest-high, wrought-iron railing and Randy with one hand flush against her flat belly, holding her tightly to him as he slid himself inside and almost back out again.

Tears cut a path down her cheeks and the soft, cold wind made them burn against her flesh. It wasn't fair…none of it. Not Duncan and his insistence that she become a part of something she never wished to know about; not Owen and his love for her, but mostly it wasn't fair that destiny hadn't brought Randy Orton along her path sooner, before the convoluted knot of her fate had tightened into such a mass of disorder. Barren wasn't supposed to care. She was supposed to have already gotten the key and been long gone, leaving only a pithy memory of a fender-bender—nothing more. Barren was most definitely _never_ supposed to have fallen in love with someone like Randy Orton.

Why couldn't he have been ugly? Or at the very least, couldn't he have been crass and insolent? Rude and unappreciative? Maybe even bald as an eraser with missing teeth? Something! Anything but what he was. Because what he truly _was_, was everything she should have been searching for to begin with. He was beyond leaps and bounds, handsome and charming, intelligent and witty, and after this weekend, she realized he was considerate and adaptive, helpful and mature.

Her worries and assumptions, the musings that were tearing her heart out, however distressing, were quickly taking a back seat to her need to savor the moment. And she did. Randy's hands on her body, strong and supportive, demanding and coaxing, played harmoniously with the skill of his words and the rhythm of his motions. The questions he asked, the soft verbal caresses all conspired with the physical to bring her from her morose reverie into a blessed release that left her almost too weak to stand.

The furious thumping of her heart barely disguised the words she thought she'd heard. And just when she was sure he hadn't said it—he said it again. He loved her…that's what he said…and without being able to respond properly, she leaned back against him still facing the woods. "Do you?"

She felt him nod, felt the scrape of his whiskers against her temple when he did so. "Good." She whispered. "Because I was hoping you did."

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She'd been asleep for hours, as indicated by the glowing numbers on the bedside alarm clock. It was 3:45 and dinner hadn't sustained her. Her stomach roiled with the emptiness and protested with a fierce rumbling that rivaled her desire for sleep, and so dragging herself quietly from the warmth of the bed, Nancy trudged downstairs to the kitchen, in search of food.

A sadly flattened twinkie was a poor excuse for a snack and most likely had been the result of Audrey's wild foraging through the pantry before leaving earlier this morning. Nancy bypassed the twinkie in lieu of leftover chicken from the fridge and sat down in the dining chair indulging in the chicken and the memories of a peaceful evening, where she'd enjoyed a movie on the television and a pleasant, platonic interaction with her husband. Her nervousness at being alone again with him, knowing his propensity to make a pass, faded into an indistinct reflection in light of the fun they'd had. Her biggest disappointment was that she spent the better part of the day pondering the 'almost kiss' and wondering why he hadn't jumped at the opportunity to try it again.

It wasn't that he'd refused, nor was it a case where she'd made an advance. He'd simply been every bit the gentleman, less inclined today to bait her or seduce her. Despite his very tame demeanor, she had sensed that he had by no means forgotten about the happenings in the hotel room, or the near kiss. That particular memory was smoldering under the surface and she could see it clearly in his eyes and she knew he could see it in hers.

Nancy had tried to moderate her own deportment by not backing away every time he was close and by not racing off to be in bed and asleep before he could get there. Just the small change in her own behavior had done wonders for her sense of self esteem and gone a long way toward inflating Dave's spirits as well. At least she thought it had done as much.

Lying on his side, his elbow propped on a pillow, he'd listened to her as she shared with him the extensive truth behind the botched rabbit trick. His inquiry had been prompted by the discovery of the rabbit in his cage, stashed in the studio so Nancy had confessed. She'd also informed him of the incident with Toby Davis in the pizza parlor. Somehow she'd known he wouldn't be too angry and the fact that he'd laughed about certain aspects of it put her at ease, even as he reached out to tuck her curl behind her ear.

Nancy smiled as she began to recall their conversation.

…"_I think I was more shocked than anything when she actually hit him." Nancy said shaking her head in bewilderment. "I admit I have to give her credit for holding off as long as she did, though." _

_He sighed and fluffed the pillow readjusting in his reclining position. "He's basically a good kid, but he homed in on Audrey for some reason and he's been teasing her for awhile now." _

"_I'm not saying he asked for it or anything, I just think that she was fed up. He was the reason that she didn't want to go to school." Nancy was mildly prepared for a scolding of sorts. "She pulled his hair too." She added for a last measure, much the same way that Audrey had done and found herself laughing. "It's bad, I know."_

_Dave shook his head and made an effort not to smile, but he failed. "I suppose I should probably talk to her about it."_

_Nancy chewed her lower lip. "She did apologize to him, if that makes a difference." She softly reminded him in Audrey's defense._

"_I'm sure that you did what you thought was right considering the circumstances." He mused casting a searching glance toward her. "If she does it again, she's in her room for an extended period of time and the X-Box takes a trip to the attic."_

"_You're not mad?" She ventured, enjoying the way the muscles of his shoulders and neck strained and tightened when he readjusted the pillow. _

"_No." His response was soft indicating that his words and mind-set coincided. _

_Somehow she knew she should have been tired, but she wasn't. Strangely Nancy was sure she could have stayed up for another few hours at the very least, but knowing that her body needed the sleep even if she didn't feel tired, she finally resigned herself to a restless slumber…_

Finished with her snack and feeling the droop of her eyelids, Nancy rose from the dining room chair, placed her dishes in the sink and headed for the stairwell. She only made it a step or two when the sharp, gut-wrenching twinge of pain riveted through her midsection. It might have been mistaken for heinous indigestion, had not she felt the tightening of her stomach and been plagued by the instant inability to breathe, much less move. This definitely was _not_ indigestion.

Her knuckles were white when she clamped her hand onto the railing and let her suddenly weakened stance relax completely, her bottom finding a solid seat on one of the steps. A groan, had she been able to find her voice, would not have sufficed. A roar maybe. And she winced, closing her eyes and attempting to focus on something other than the intense feeling of pressure.

Once the pain took its leave, she began to breathe again though she was in no way going to attempt to stand. She blew a lock of hair back from her face and turned her head toward the top of the stairwell. Nancy knew she could call out for Dave, but she also realized that he most likely wouldn't hear her since she had closed the door on her way to the kitchen to keep from waking him.

Blowing out a breath, she assessed that the distance was not overly far. She could make it to the top and wake him. Maybe? She stood on unsure legs, and went right back down to a sitting position when another shock of pain ripped through her. This time she succeeded in forcing forth something resembling a whimper. "Oh, hell." Was her eloquent verbal pondering when she realized that she could be stuck on the stairs for an undetermined amount of time.

"Nancy?"

It was almost too good to be true; someone was in the room with her. "Yep." She confirmed with a one word response, knowing that anything more articulate might be impossible.

Max had come through the adjoining door in search of a snack as well, little more than a second prior. He caught sight of her sitting on the steps, still latched onto the railing as if it had become a part of her anatomy. "Why are you sitting there?"

"Because I like the view." She was practically panting and her laugh was followed by a small frown; another whimper.

Max gave a queer little smile and then upon noticing that she had been joking, that her forehead was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and she seemed about ready to double over…it finally hit him. "Oh, damn! You're—"

"Uh, huh." She nodded, eyes still closed, hands still clasping the rail.

Max darted left and then skidded to a halt, darting right…confused. "Where the hell is Dave?"

"Sleeping."

"Well we have to get you up from here." His movements were erratic and his voice was gaining in volume, interwoven with panic. He made a move to lift her up and she shook her head.

"Go up and get Dave." She ordered softly.

"Dave!" He yelled in a rafter shaking shout.

"Max!" She groused.

"Shit, sorry" He mumbled and darted up the stairs past her.

Minutes later, Dave Batista was half stumbling down the stairs his eyes bleared from being ripped from his sleep by the insistent shaking of his shoulder. "I knew it." He said softly when he kneeled on the step beside her, pulling her hair out of her face, laying eyes on the pitiable grimace that twisted her features. He had been half right when he'd told her it might be only days; he should have banked on hours. Confirming that her water hadn't yet broken calmed him and he thrust a leather pocketbook from the phone table into Max's hands. "Call everyone on that first page."

Max nodded and then dashed past the phone, then realizing his error he ran back and picked the cordless up, dialing the first number on the list, misdialing in his scatterbrained state and then redialing.

Dave tugged a t-shirt on over his shoulders and dug through the laundry basket for the rest of his garments. A groan from the stairwell brought him around the corner. "You packed a bag awhile back." He told her. "Where is it?"

"How the hell am I supposed to remember?" She glowered at him and then upon feeling another twinge of pain, she whined.

He might have laughed at his own forgetfulness and his unintentional jibe, but instead he apologized, leaning down to grin at her in the midst of the chaos. There was something adorable about the pained expression that gave way to a whimper of a laugh when he admitted his slip of the tongue. "I'll call Vanessa. She knows where everything is."

"Wait a minute." She clutched at his hand as he stood. "Stay here…please…for a minute."

He consented and knelt again, noting the tightening of her grip on his hand. Dave knew he had to get moving if he was to have everything ready when they left, but her quiet insistence that he stay with her, the fearful light behind her eyes and then her head dropping to his shoulder as she attempted to breathe through an apparent contraction kept him there.

"The bag." Max skidded breathlessly around the corner holding the fully-packed, black duffel in one hand and the phone in the other. "Vanessa thought you might not remember where it was."

Thank God for Vanessa and her sense of responsibility. "We need to go." He insisted softly. "Can you walk?"

"Yep." She confirmed and stood to her feet. "Nope." She amended with a grunt and plopped right back down. "I need a minute."

The truck was loaded, the appropriate numbers were called and before long the Navigator was humming down the highway in the direction of the hospital.


	29. Chapter 28

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 28

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future, without fear."

**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**  
_US poet (1807 - 1882)_

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His eyes were gritty and dry from being forced to open long before he'd been prepared. The phone was emitting a god-awful trill and from somewhere deep in his shroud of slumber he imagined that it might be a mechanical bird; a macaw or some other equally annoying computerized animal. It was the fierce shaking of his shoulder that had him prying his eyelids open, to behold Barren and her expression of weary excitement along with her rushed whispers, telling him that his friend's wife was in labor and prepared to give birth.

Randy knew that Dave hadn't called him for the purpose of needing him at the hospital so much as simply to inform him, but he had the strongest desire to go and be present for the birth nonetheless. Maybe it was his residual guilt over having been the responsible party in the car accident that had him whipping the sheets off and scrambling for his pants. Whatever the case was, he felt it important to be supportive to his friend and he even felt like he might want to know what it might be like to be present for something of this nature. He might not have an inclination to watch, mind you, but he wouldn't mind being a part of the joyous aftermath.

Barren too, was dashing out of Randy's bed, finger combing a snarled mass of auburn tresses and yanking her jeans on as she hopped around trying to inch them over her muscular thighs. She desperately wanted to be in attendance to see the baby's entrance into the world, but she had a strange notion that she would be better served by looking for the key that she was positive Nancy hadn't had the time to pack or hide in her rush to get to the hospital. With shaking fingers she swiftly buttoned her shirt and then slipped on a pair of low-heeled, sling-backs.

Randy would have been content to have Barren come along, but her soft suggestion that she was willing to help by readying Dave and Nancy's house for their return home, seemed an even better idea. He knew his friend might appreciate coming home to clean dishes and freshly made beds to lighten the load and so he dropped Barren off and let her in with the key he'd forgotten to return to Dave the night before. He had little time for more than a swift kiss on the lips and the chance to see her safely inside, before bolting back to the warmth of the car and unintentionally spinning the tires at the base of the gravel drive in his haste.

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"She's been using her real name." Mr. Littlejohn informed Max. "Her prints confirmed it. They matched up to the biometrics that were taken when she was registered as a landed immigrant."

Max nervously chewed a fingernail and paced the studio, in a trail on the concrete as he listened to the specifics being given to him.

Littlejohn continued. "She was registered in Florida at the age of six, naturalized when she turned fourteen. Her father is in prison in Dublin for his involvement with a military stronghold and her mother was deported back to Ireland last year for failure to provide a spousal sponsor. Barren's credit is impeccable and she's never had so much as a traffic ticket. She's barely more than a blip on the radar." He sighed into the phone as if the search might have been a waste of his time. "The only thing that struck me as strange was the fact that Barren's clients have complained to the gym at which she's employed, that she hasn't shown up for any of her scheduled appointments for several weeks. I also did a check with her landlady who bragged that Barren was the best tenant that she's had, but informed me that she hasn't received any rent and reported that she's not seen or heard from Barren in weeks either."

Max knew why. Barren wasn't _there_ to fulfill her commitments, because she was _here_ causing a problem for him. "Well, thanks for all you've done." He nearly choked on the bitter words, deflated by the failure to conjure up some sort of dirt on the woman who was worming her way into Nancy's life.

"Not a problem." Littlejohn responded. "You know, Max…this could just be a slight case of someone running from their past, or it might even be an instance where she just got tired of the weight of her responsibilities and decided to make a change…there's really no crime in that. I'll know more once I check out her brother's background and I'll call you then."

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There were few dishes in the sink and a full load in the dishwasher, but that was the last thing on Barren's list of chores. She made a bee-line for the master bedroom, where she intended to make up the bed and straighten it while she searched for the key. It was apparent that things had been left in a rush, rightly so; the bed was unmade, a laundry basket was tipped over on the floor with an assortment of socks spilling out, the closet door was ajar and the bedside lamps, as well as the master bathroom light, were still on. Barren righted the tipped basket and placed it inside of the closet shutting the door completely. She made the bed, smoothing the comforter and folding the top edge back, stacking the pillows in perfect alignment after she had slid her hands beneath the mattress edge to determine if the key were there.

She snapped the bedside lamp off when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Color me surprised." Max cleared his throat. "Not only are you a shameless snoop, you do well as a happy homemaker too."

Barren felt her nostrils flare and her cheeks burn as she frowned with irritation. "What are you doing here?"

He scratched his chin, indifferently. "I was planning on asking you the same question."

Barren shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I wanted to help. I thought I could come clean things up so that no one had to come home to a mess…it's not a big deal."

"How thoughtful of you." His words dripped with sarcasm, as he took a few more steps into the bedroom. "And here I was, thinking that you had an ulterior motive."

"You really don't think much of me, do you?" Barren ventured, staring at the floor for a moment, content to try a new tactic; laying a guilt trip on Max for his use of such careless words.

Max laughed, not taken in by the bait. "Poor little Barren…" He continued. "If I told you what I _really_ thought of you, would that make you feel better?"

"What is your problem?" Barren asked, not bothering to hide her irritation. "Am I a threat to you? Are you afraid that my friendship with Nancy is going to push you out of the inner circle?" She smirked, knowing at last that she had him pegged. "That's it isn't it?"

A dry chuckle passed Max's lips as he pondered the question. He wouldn't admit that he'd been thinking that very thing for the past day or so. "I spent the better part of two years dealing with WWE Divas, so you'll have to forgive me if I'm immune to histrionics…theatrics." Max added for good measure. He watched as she shook her head and planted one slender hand on her hip. "You truly have everyone else fooled…You have Randy thinking you're a saint…which doesn't surprise me, even given my limited knowledge of his history with women." He took another step forward. "And to tell the truth, I'm not surprised that Nancy believes you're on the up and up, but she has amnesia, so maybe that has something to do with it." He glanced at his shoe and then when his eyes swung back upward, he leveled her with a stare that held a distinct flicker of warning. "But _I'm_ not buying the act."

"What act?" Barren asked, through a tight-lipped smile.

"Let me just give you one piece of advice…and if you're half as smart as you pretend to be, you'll take it to heart." Max wagged a finger a mere inch from Barren's face. "If you have even a single malicious intention…it _will_ come out." He was briefly satisfied when she took a step backward.

"Are you threatening me?" Barren scoffed as she planted her hands on her hips in a gesture of defiance.

"I recommend that if you're planning on using Nancy or your position as her _'friend'_ to advance your interests…" He made quotation marks with his fingers. "You might change your mind. Because any retaliation that you think _I_ might be bent on, will be nothing in comparison to what you'll face at the hands of Dave Batista."

"I have no ulterior motive, Max and my intentions are nothing but respectable!" Barren snapped, barely able to conceal her wrath.

"Right…" Max said nonchalantly, indicating that he wasn't convinced by her declaration. "For your sake, let's just hope you're telling the truth." Max concluded, turning to leave.

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A swift glance at the watch on his wrist told him that the entire event of his son's birth had been rather swift by the standards of most people. Just over two hours from door to delivery, left him shocked and relieved that it had gone so quickly. The whole of the event had been blessedly uncomplicated and incredibly smooth, something that he'd not expected when he considered his streak of calamity lately. The specialist that had taken his wife's case hadn't made it and would likely not have been able to be present even if he'd hopped a plane the very second he'd gotten the phone call. Instead, he had reassured the very nervous mother that she would be in good hands with Dr. Nesbit, the doctor he usually referred to parents in the Seattle area. Dr. Nesbit also happened to be the on-call physician as luck would have it. He was a very short, kindly man with a ring of graying hair around the nape of his head, leaving exposed, a smooth and shiny bald area on the top that reflected the lights in the room.

The doctor had been apprised of the special circumstances ahead of time and since he was based out of Lacey, Washington, he'd arrived in short order, with smiles and words of encouragement; a late-night energy and exuberance that would make most people envious. And though the man was little more than five feet tall and weighing less than his wife, he was intelligent and carried himself well, with a perpetual smile and endless patience…he also had a hell of a sense of humor and so Dave found that he liked the man straight away.

Dave almost had to laugh when he recalled some of the humor surrounding his wife's labor and his own forgetfulness when he'd tried to encourage her to breathe the way they'd practiced in her classes—classes she couldn't remember. The attempt had elicited from her, a bungled attempt at breathing, a laugh and then a groan, when another contraction began. No time to teach her the specifics again, Dave had begun to make every attempt to get her to laugh, because that seemed to take the place of an epidural, for which there was also no time. His jokes and stories from his trips on the road had helped somewhat, pulling her mind away from the pain and though he'd thought she might crush his fingers in the process of pushing, her good attitude never waned and in no time at all, her pain was over and his son was loudly making his entrance into the world.

Dave had naturally expected tears from her, because mothers usually always cried when their child was born—he hadn't been prepared to witness her weep and laugh, both expressions of emotion meshing almost all in the same. The sight of Nancy's reaction along with his son's pitiable wailing brought forth tears from his own eyes and he'd known from his own experience with having been present for two previous births, that there was no love or joy _he_ knew of that could even equal it. He could clearly recall how he'd felt when each of his daughters had made their first appearance, thinking it wasn't possible to have enough love left in his heart for anything else, but clearly after seeing the face of his son, he knew it was possible.

And so now, Nancy was in recovery and _he_ was standing, outside of the nursery window in scrubs that were meant for a much smaller man, bearing witness to the loud and wretched protesting of his son who was being weighed and then bathed and most definitely expressing his displeasure at being exposed to the cold air and bright lights. The heartrending quiver of his lip every time he let out with another wail followed by a hiccup, a cough and more of the same, until finally being swaddled in a blanket and being brought within a few feet of the window for paternal inspection, had Dave swallowing a lump.

The boy's eyes, when not squinted while squealing in tearful protest, were a deep black with a blue cast, as was the norm for all babies. Dave found himself wondering what color they would be once they began to change. The boy was possessed of a medium skin tone that miraculously had escaped with only minor splotching. His hands were large and perpetually clenched into fists, both of which he was determined to force into his mouth. The baby boy also was gifted with a fully functioning set of lungs, as evidenced by his noisy cries, indicating he was hungry, cold and just generally pissed off at being thrust from the secure warmth of his mother's womb. But the one thing that had Dave Batista grinning from ear to ear was the mass of loose ringlets that had formed on his son's head after the swift bathing. He'd never seen a baby with so much hair and he knew the boy had gotten that particular trait from his mother. Dave wasn't certain of the true hair color because of the dampness, but he'd bet that somehow it would be light brown like Nancy's and he knew she would be pleased, that although the boy highly resembled his father, he had been gifted with his mother's curls.

"I would have thought he'd be bigger."

Dave turned his head at the sound of Randy's voice and felt the clap of a hand on his shoulder. "So did I." A soft chuckle, when he thought of Randy's statement. His son, though healthy, was oddly average in size, something he was sure his exhausted wife was grateful for. Dave had held the 8 pound 2 ounce baby boy for a short time after he'd arrived, noticing how he'd fit in his two large hands with both of his wildly flailing feet barely touching Dave's forearms and he was positive his shaving bag weighed more than his son did.

"I hauled ass, I can't believe _he_ beat me here." Randy grinned gesturing to the boy behind the window, who was now being ushered to the back of the nursery for testing. "Looks like he hauled ass too." He had hoped he might make it before the baby did, but Randy was secretly thankful that he didn't have to witness anything that might have made him faint. Barbed-wire and thumbtacks were a piece of cake, but the thought of watching a woman give birth to something larger than a football made him a tad squeamish. "I would never have guessed it would go so fast."

"No kidding." Dave slid both hands into his scrub pockets and turned away from the window, knowing that the boy would be delivered to his wife's room before long. "Neither of my girls made it here this quick." He silently hoped that the uncomplicated, speedy delivery signaled a shift in the tumultuous events that had surrounded the last month and a half. "I hope this is the beginning of a peaceful season."

"Well maybe since he'd didn't put up a fight getting here; it'll mean you won't ever have any trouble out of him." Randy offered, thinking if that line of rationale were true, then he'd probably given his mother multiple hours of hell in the delivery room.

"I think God knows I can't handle much more than Audrey." Dave said with a tired laugh as the two men strolled the quiet hallway toward the cafeteria and the promise of a cup of stout coffee.

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It was over, the toughest part anyhow, but now Nancy was faced with a brand new dilemma. Suddenly, very lonely because she was by herself in the room, Nancy let her hand fall to the stomach that was noticeably flatter without her baby. Her eyes watered with fresh tears, because she wanted the baby right away and strangely…because she wanted her husband too…and she smiled when she realized that none of the wanting she felt was laced with the doubt that had constantly plagued her. At the moment, she couldn't care less about the fact that she had no clear possession of her past memories, good or bad—there was no concern for the key which was at home, nestled inside the box of Epsom salts, no concern for anything save for the delightful prospect of moving forward.

She finally had to share with others the baby boy that she'd been hoarding, because he was now here. But that wasn't such a terrible thing and she smiled, looking forward to holding her baby and yet growing the least bit impatient because her nurse hadn't made it back with him.

Another quandary she was kicking around was the fact that she had forgotten to ask Dave if they had chosen a name for the boy. Even wracking her brain, Nancy couldn't think of a name suitable…maybe a name she had harbored? Oh well…the name could wait, but she could not. The least bit tempted to hobble out of the bed and go looking for her son; Nancy twisted to find the nurse's station pull cord, when she heard the sound of the door as it creaked open. Her nurse poked her French-braided, blonde head around the door and with a wide smile she spoke.

"I bet you're ready for this little guy." The woman in Winnie the Pooh scrubs pulled the bassinet in the room behind her.

"Yes I am." Nancy told her and pushed up to a full sitting position in the bed. Her gaze lit on the tall figure of her husband who followed behind the bassinet and she was the tiniest bit surprised when she felt warmer at the sight of him. "What took so long? Is he okay?" Nancy asked in rapid fire manner, knowing that he'd been taken for tests.

"He's fine, but he's not fond of baths." The nurse laughed and lifted the boy into Nancy's arms, helping her to adjust the tangle of IV wires. "He's hungry, so I'll leave you to that task and just check on you later." The nurse retreated through the door, her absence filled by Randy Orton's presence, as he stuck his head in after a soft knock.

Dave motioned him in and Randy stood by, watching the tiny boy's infant huffs and the insistent twist of his tiny head, while he seemed to root around in a sightless search for food. "I just wanted to see how you were." He seemed out of place, nervous. "I'll come back later after he's done eating and then maybe I'll take your husband for something to eat."

"Only if you bring back something for me." Nancy said, touching the boy's cheek and smiling when his face turned instinctively toward her knuckle.

"Sure thing." Randy agreed ducking back out of the room and leaning against the wall by the door. A rueful smile twisted his mouth upward. Behind him in that room, he could hear the soft laughter of his friend…in that room a mother was feeding her new baby and a father who adored them both, was no doubt, watching in amazement. Randy turned on his heel and let his steps take him toward the elevators, feeling an immense weight of envy. He wanted the same in his own life and he could have had it, had not Samantha taken off on him. He could still have it, he thought with a measure of pride. Just not with her.

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Dave brushed back a glossy curl, tucking it behind Nancy's ear when it fell down over her breast and tickled the feeding baby's nose, causing him to squint. He listened to his wife's soft laugh and he sat back in the chair, watching the interaction between the two. Her eyes weren't clouded with exhaustion as he might have expected, but instead sparkled with a deep contentment that he hoped had a little bit do to with him. But still he knew that if her visible joy had nothing to do with him and everything to do with his son, he wouldn't mind. Just seeing her smile as she fed their child and grazed the baby's forehead and nose with soft fingertips was enough to erase all of the frustration he'd felt in the past few weeks. He cleared his throat, finally deciding that this was probably the best time for him to bring up the subject of the name he'd wanted to suggest.

"I was thinking." Dave began, scooting the chair closer.

"Hmm?" She murmured softly, looking upward to meet his eyes. He noticed that she seemed to be bewitched by the baby she held.

"We never really picked a name for a boy." He told her, broaching the subject gingerly. "There were plenty of suggestions for a girl's name; Anikah was Vanessa's idea and Audrey was determined to name her Houdini."

Nancy laughed, evermore fond of her unorthodox stepdaughter. "Well thank goodness, they're only suggestions." She met his gaze before continuing. "I had wondered about a name for him, but I couldn't remember whether we thought of one." Nancy smiled.

"I had one in mind. It came to me the night of the wreck, right after my match."

Nancy nodded, listening.

"I was going to run it by you." He said venturing a little further.

She nodded her head once more in agreement and then told him. "I think you should choose the name, so long as it's not something that gets him teased in school."

He was immensely relieved by her grin and the softness in her reception and it stole away the momentary shock that he'd expected to feel at her acceptance. Somehow he'd thought that she would feel deprived of the privilege of giving the boy a name, but deep inside he knew she wouldn't have. And since he suspected that she'd not had the time to choose a name prior to giving him the sonogram picture, he also was tempted to believe that she hadn't put much effort into choosing one in the past few busy weeks, either. "I'd like to name him Nathan…it's Hebrew and means 'Gift from God'. And also because your father's name was Jonathan and the two of you were close when he was alive…it sort of bears a resemblance to his name." He stared at her face, hoping to gauge her approval.

Nancy wasn't sure why she felt such a temptation to cry, but she quashed it, swallowing deeply as she looked down on the boy. It was endearing that he might have been thinking of her feelings when he had chosen a name. "We could call him Nate for short." She offered, seemingly content with the name. "He'll need a middle name too." She reminded.

"David." He said without hesitation. "Partially because it's mine but because it's also Hebrew and means, 'Beloved One.'"

Nancy nodded. "I like it. It fits him." She said, amused by the expression on her husband's face; he appeared much like an employee hoping for the approval of his boss.

Dave noticed that the boy seemed to be finished with his first meal, his head lolling to the side in blissful satisfaction and so he motioned for the baby, lifting him up in both hands.

The bundled boy was dwarfed by her husband's large frame and she smiled, noticing that he seemed completely devoid of the nervousness or timidity that most men usually exhibited when holding someone so small. "Let's see if you look like a Nathan." He said, as he held the boy staring down into his face. An uncoordinated flail of the baby boy's arms when the low rumble of Dave's soft voice seemed to jog his recognition caused his hand to jerk clip Dave's chin, bringing forth a grin from his father.

"Well there's that right hook." She heard Dave say in almost a whisper. He seemed to be lost to everything in existence but the boy, as he held him, quietly appraising the lips that worked in his sleep and the fringe of light lashes that cast a tiny shadow on his plump cheeks. Then finally he nodded, letting a grin lift his lips. "It suits him."

"I agree."

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He'd finally managed to track down the IP address and with vigilant eagerness, had gone straight to the residence where he knew Barren had begun her original correspondence with him. But that was merely the beginning of the agony for Owen. Pulling up to the curb across the street, he'd planned to stake-out the stylish townhouse for a short time before making contact with Barren, but he hadn't expected to see what he'd been faced with only a second or two after shutting off the ignition.

It had been her. He was certain of it. Wearing battered blue-jeans and a light blue jacket, stepping out of the townhouse and locking the door behind her, Barren O'Neal was the picture of casual beauty. But that wasn't what had his blood boiling and his heart thumping madly in his chest. It was the fact that she had been latched tightly to the arm of a tall, handsome man. Owen had watched the pair share their laughter and then he witnessed the man lift Barren into his arms and spin her around off of the porch to save her from walking in her heels through the freshly fallen snow. He saw the man put her in the car and then he heard her squeal with more laughter when the man made a joke of climbing practically on top of her in the passenger seat.

Owen hadn't missed that kiss. That was the kind of kiss that only lovers shared. Barren's laughter rang once more in his ear and he had to use every ounce of restraint in his soul to keep from dashing out of the car with his 9mm in hand and pumping a few rounds into the man's chest. Knowing that he had to keep his composure and remain in full control of his myriad of competing emotions, for the sake of his endeavor, was the _only_ thing that kept him planted behind the wheel.

He had even followed the pair from the townhouse to the downtown shopping row, where he'd witnessed them stop for coffee and then with paper cups in hand the pair had dashed eagerly inside of a large baby boutique. Confused and infuriated, Owen exited the car, tucking his black hair beneath a ball cap, slipping on a pair of glasses for affect and followed far behind into the boutique—wisely he left the gun in the car beneath the seat, lest he be possessed of the notion to kill the man who was currently toying with Barren's hair.

He had no idea why Barren would be shopping for baby items and he felt his stomach lurch with sickness when he mentally counted the time since he'd last made love to her. Almost a month and a half…he was suddenly dizzy. What if she was carrying his child? It was possible…the timing was right. A sudden urge to panic threatened to hinder his effort to objectively spy on the two and he let out a deep breath to steady himself. Why else would she be doting on the racks laden with tiny clothing and squealing in delight when she lifted a smaller-than-small pair of tennis shoes between two fingers to show the man, who was nodding and smiling _and_ massaging her shoulders from behind?

Had she felt the need to seek this man's help because she _was_ pregnant? Had she slept with this man and convinced him that the child in her womb was his? Questions swirling around in his mind, sliced his tender ego like random razors and he felt himself enraged over the sight of the two. He knew for everyone's sake and because he hadn't been seen by Barren yet, that he had to get out of the store before he lost it completely and tore the man apart with his bare hands.

The bell on the door tinkled when it closed behind him and Owen gulped in lungfuls of the fresh cold air, hoping it would calm him. Choosing to end the day's surveillance, he stomped to the car and sank into the driver's seat deciding to resume his task the following day—when he was calm enough to think rationally.

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"Oh shit…" Randy mumbled, catching a glimpse of his sister's phone number on the display of his cell phone, as he finished paying for the new baby boy's gifts. "I don't want to, but I better take this or I'll never hear the end of it." He groused and passed the multitude of gift bags to Barren who nodded, accepting them and giving Randy space.

He was on the defensive the moment he answered, but was swiftly surprised when he detected the cheerful nuance in Lynn's voice.

"Randy?"

He stuck a finger in his other ear to block out the noise in the store. "Uh…yeah?" He watched Barren stick her tongue out playfully as she ducked out of the boutique into the cold to be seated on a bench out front.

"Um, how's it going?" Lynn was hesitant as she spoke, trying to approach her baby brother in some other manner than the hateful accusatory way toward which she always found herself bent.

Randy's brow pleated. "Well, I—good, I guess…pretty good." He practically stuttered in his shock, that Lynn would possible care about how he was doing. "Are you, um…are you okay? You don't sound like—yourself."

"I'm fine." Was her cheerful response. "What were you doing? I mean are you busy?"

Randy was dumbfounded by her apparent easygoing demeanor. "I was…I bought Dave's new kid some stuff." He scratched his head in befuddlement, wondering if she were about to blast him with a flurry of verbal insults.

"Nancy had her baby, huh?" Lynn said, her voice carrying a smile that he could not see, but could most definitely hear. "What did they have?"

"A boy." He switched the phone to his other ear and planted one hand on the back of his neck. "Lynn, uh—you, um…how do I put this?" He spun around staring at a crib set-up in the store and he flicked the mobile gently with a forefinger, watching the mobile as it began a wobbly rotation. "I'm confused. Normally when you call, you're…different—"

"You mean I'm normally a bitch?" She supplied, laughing.

"Yeah! Um, no…I didn't mean that…I meant." He stammered, knowing suddenly that he had set himself up to be cut to ribbons by her razor-sharp tongue.

"You may not have said it, but it's what you were thinking…" Lynn began. "And you were right."

"Huh?" Utterly bewildered, it was the only response he could force forth.

"Do you remember when we used to be kids?" Lynn asked, her voice carrying out on a soft sort of wistfulness.

"Yeah."

She laughed lightly. "I used to adore you."

Randy almost fell over. "Huh?"

"It's true…I know it's hard to believe, but it's true." Her voice fell to a whisper, before she laughed again. "Did you know, I prayed for you on Christmas when I was four? Of course you didn't get here until I was six, but you eventually got here…and the first time I saw you, I thought you were the coolest thing ever."

The tone of her voice told Randy that she was utterly serious and though he was robbed of any words, any fitting responses, he wasn't sure his dry mouth would have let his voice out anyhow.

"I used to pretend you were _my_ baby and even when you got a little older, with all of your…freckles and big front teeth and your constant whining to tag along with me…" She sighed. "Even then, Randy, I thought you were the coolest thing ever."

"But now—" Randy began, his voice a mere scratch.

She softly ignored his words and she politely cut him short. "You were able to do all of the things that I _never_ had the guts to do…You follow your heart and never your head. You're not afraid of anything…not in the ring, not anywhere. I was so jealous of you, because you never cared about time or timing…consequences or rewards." Her tears could be heard in her voice.

"Lynn—"

"Randy…I'm sorry if I made you feel like I didn't care about you." Lynn was sincere. "I wish I could take back the things I said…And for what it's worth, I _still_ think you're the coolest thing ever." Her voice had softened with her emotion.

Randy had to seat himself in a rocker beside the store's crib display to keep from falling down. Proper words eluded him and finally the weight of his inadequacy dripped away as he sat there absorbing the oddity of what his sister had just said. His silence must have concerned her, for he heard her say his name.

"Randy? Are you still there?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah…I'm here. I-I just don't know what to say, is all."

"I was hoping we could build on this and…maybe even start over." Lynn ventured, hopefully.

"I think that sounds good." Randy smiled, wiping away the smallest trace of moisture from his left eye. "I would really like that."

"Me too." She said gently. "I have to go now…but I'll call you in a day or so…if that's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah definitely." Randy said, finally able to stand to his feet. The two said goodbye to one another and then filled with newfound excitement, he exited the store.

Barren was seated on the bench and she glanced up at him with guarded curiosity. Seeing the glimmer of happiness in his eyes, she asked. "Everything okay?"

Randy reached down, gripping both of her lapels with his fists, and tugged her playfully up against him, planting his lips on hers and brazenly kissing her in front of the other shoppers on the lane. "_Everything_ is perfect." He told her with all sincerity and then nuzzling her neck amidst her laughter, he whispered suggestive innuendo into her ear as he led her to the car and the warm privacy of home.

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"We're out of options where that woman's concerned." Sullivan informed, leveling a finger in Evan's direction. "I want you to get rid of her and move on to the brother."

Evan's eyes flashed with fury. "It just kills you not to be in control of everything, doesn't it?"

"I'm in control, God Dammit!" Sully blasted. "It's you who has no control over your objectives, your emotions, or your cock!" He rounded the desk and poured himself a shot of whiskey. "We've been trailing that bitch for six fucking weeks! And the closest we've gotten is in the panties of the sister of a man who Barren may or may _not_ be with!"

"I'm close to finding out everything we need to know!" Evan shot back. "She trusts me. She wants to spend time with me and she's starting to tell me things."

"I want you to get rid of her, Evan." Sullivan drained the glass and poured another. "I want you to cut her throat, put a bullet in her head…I don't care how you do it, but get rid of her so you can search her apartment without restraint and find out where her brother is."

"I won't kill her." Evan said matter-of-factly, the line of his jaw set firmly.

"You won't, huh?" Sully asked calmly, defying the notion that he was furious.

"I won't, because I don't have to." Evan said matching Sullivan's glare and tone of voice. "I already know where Randy Orton is."

Sullivan lifted his brow. "And you're just _now_, seeing fit to inform me?"

"I was sitting right beside her, when she called him this morning." Evan explained. "And afterward she told me that he had been shopping for the baby boy that his friend had last night." Evan poured himself a glass of whiskey. "I probed and she told me that he was in Seattle where his friend lives…I'm sure Barren may be with him."

Sullivan nodded as if he might be satisfied with Evan's findings. "Fine, so then you'll have no problem killing Lynn and boarding a plane for Seattle this afternoon."

Evan clenched his jaw. "She doesn't have to die." He informed Sullivan with no sign of weakness peppering his voice. "I'll just leave without telling her. She'll just think I got tired of her and left."

Something wasn't right. Sullivan could see it in the man's eyes, could sense it in his obstinacy. He let the glass come to rest on the desk with a loud 'thunk' and then he rounded it, reclining in the chair behind it. "You're in love with her." He finally said, a condescending smile drifting to his face as he pressed his fingertips together in a steeple, touching them to his lips.

"Don't be ridiculous." Evan let his own glass slam down onto the desk. He was tired of Sullivan, tired of chasing Barren…tired of the whole damned thing.

"You're a dumb sunuva bitch, Evan…and your hesitation, your cowardice is gonna cost every one of us!"

No longer able to keep his temper in check, Evan exploded, reaching across the desk and grasping the front of Sullivan's shirt, tugging him halfway out of the chair. "Don't ever insult my mother or my heritage again!" His voice was little more than a stern snarl. "And don't ever mistake my discretion for cowardice!" He was swiftly pulled off of Sullivan by the two attending cohorts who set him back a few feet from the desk. "I approached this the best way possible, considering the circumstances and it worked. So stop second guessing me…_your_ haste is what's going to cost us all!" He conformed as Sullivan smirked and straightened his wrinkled shirtfront. Without waiting for an answer, Evan strode smoothly from the office and slammed the door behind him, bound for Lynn and scrambling for a way to hide her so she would be safe, should Sullivan decide to kill her himself.

Back inside the office, Sullivan stood to his feet, poured himself a third and final glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter. "Follow him…keep an eye on him." He instructed the two men who remained in front of him. "But don't kill him." He sipped the liquor. "I'll decide when he's of no further use to me."

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	30. Chapter 29

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 29

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Memory is a giggling sprite and will not be tamed. She takes flight the moment the present becomes the past."

**Real Live Preacher**, _weblog, 04-29-04_  
_Anonymous author of _

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The wrong spices had gone into _that_ dish. The fact that he was and had always been a fantastic cook, certainly couldn't have been determined by simple observance, especially in light of the weariness that had him unable to remember exactly _why_ he had put cumin _instead_ of cinnamon into the glaze for his ham. Dave Batista pulled the bubbling mixture off of the stove and washed it down the sink with no remorse, content to start over with another batch. A week home from the hospital seemed like an eternity when he took into account the amount of time he'd gone without quality sleep. With a grin, he was fairly certain that there wouldn't be a need for an alarm clock in the coming days, as his son was almost certainly endowed with a flawless, internal alarm that signaled his need to eat the very moment either or both of his parents shut their eyes.

Every two hours, like clockwork, give or take few minutes here and there—the baby boy with an enormous appetite, sounded off. No warning gurgles, no whimpering preemption of hunger; he simply cried out in sheer, earsplitting desperation, forcing Dave to believe that every neighbor on Puget Sound he'd ever had and never met was out buying earplugs. And his wife, who had the constant job of supplying Nathan's food, was dragging around like the walking dead, but apparently happy to do it, as she hadn't been more than two feet away from 'Nate' since they'd brought him home.

Dave reflected back on the ride from the hospital remembering how he'd stared in the rearview mirror, amused with the way she'd placed herself beside the car-seat and then fiddled and fussed over the oblivious, sleeping boy, citing her concerns for his newborn welfare. She'd mentioned she wasn't sure if he was warm enough, and she hoped he was dry enough; restrained well enough. She'd tucked and re-tucked the blanket around him, checked and re-checked the seatbelt. _'No way can he possibly be comfortable with his head tilted like that.'_ She'd said with a furrow of her delicate brow. And though Dave was completely at ease with the safety and comfort of his child because he'd done this type of thing twice before, he indulged her worries because he remembered when he and Angie had been new to the whole thing, too. Most distinctly, he remembered how he and Angie had run around like chickens without heads for the first year of Vanessa's life, convinced that every tiny mistake they made would invoke irreparable damage.

He knew Nancy was a little less anxious a mere week after the birth, for she had come to the quick realization that though she had amnesia, learning _this_ new facet of motherhood was not in anyway hindered by a lapse in memory. Motherhood was new to _every_ mother. Dave had watched his wife in just a few days transform into a confident mother; confident but exhausted. Much the same way he was…only Dave knew she carried her weariness visibly better. While his wife need only to swipe on lip-gloss and rake a comb through her hair to be presentable, _his_ eyes boasted dark circles that even a WWE Schedule couldn't have produced and bags as large as turnbuckles. His face had gone for many days without the benefit of a razor and he resembled something out of a Grizzly Adams novel. And he'd almost forgotten the joys of Prada, having made close friends in the past week with warm-up pants and tank-tops.

The townhouse, too, was suffering. Normally tidy and in a peaceful state of affairs, the two story townhouse now resembled a shrapnel-riddled, war-zone. The couple had come home from the hospital to a clean abode, but that certainly hadn't lasted long. Clean laundry was piling up in baskets, dishes remained in the dishwasher until either she or he happened to realize that utensils were in short supply and certainly a light layer of dust had settled on every surface in sight. Yes, Dave Batista remembered this condition well…and thankfully he remembered that it had only lasted for a meager couple of weeks after the girls' births. Once he and his wife regained some energy, things would be back to normal…maybe. Dave knew _he_ looked like hell, he knew the house looked like hell, but right now, at least he didn't feel like hell. He felt captivated and in awe of such a tiny human being who was able to control his entire atmosphere with a mere explosive blast of vocals, pulling both adults in the house from slumber or from anything else they might have had the time to attempt to do. It would appear that the tables had turned and the smallest member of the Baustista household had become the boss; the dictator of all relevant timetables.

Dave was tugged away from his thoughts by the swift and cheerful entrance of Vanessa who had arrived with Audrey and Angie in tow only moments ago and he turned to see that his wife had now come downstairs with his son and was making a halfhearted attempt to sit on the sofa and read a magazine. And though she had made a small effort to twist her hair up and wash her face for the sake of reviving herself, he was pretty sure with her obvious exhaustion that she wasn't even making out the words on the page. Vanessa snatched a small slice of ham from the plate, popped it into her mouth and then went back out into the living room to dote on the baby boy who was sleeping in a carrier next to the sofa.

"My God, he does look like Vanessa when she was a baby. Aside from the curls." Angie grinned, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the sleeping boy who was deceptively peaceful, much like a land-mine waiting to go off once jarred.

Nancy nodded, yawning. "We were comparing her pictures last night, with his and you can't tell them apart, other than the hair."

Audrey leaned against the edge of the sofa, looking warily down at the new brother who would surely be her protégé. "His face is sort of squinty…Is there something wrong with him?"

Vanessa scowled, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the carrier between her knees. "There's nothing wrong with him. He's perfect." She defended, almost cooing her adoration for the new sibling, whom she was sure, would be less bothersome and more organized than Audrey. "Besides, all babies look like this. _You_ did."

"I don't think I did." Audrey announced softly. "He's got some really fat parts on him." She nodded her head appreciatively. "His face is really chubby and so are his arms…_it's_ kind of cute."

"_It's_ a _he_." Vanessa whispered, grinning.

"It's a _brother_, not just a he." Audrey insisted shaking her head. "But I bet I can teach him all of my magic and then we can be a brother and sister act."

"Don't be putting him in any bags or hats to see if he'll disappear." Vanessa leveled a finger toward her baby sister with all seriousness. "I'm not kidding either."

"I'm not _stupid_." Audrey reminded. "He can't do that until he's older."

Dave stepped into the living room to take part in the conversation that was being intoned in a soft nature, when he noticed that Nancy, who had been sitting upright only a moment or two ago, had finally succumbed to her exhaustion. Her head was tilted to the side, resting against her palm, that in turn was held up by her arm which was about to slide off of the edge of the sofa. Her eyes were shut and the magazine was slowly sliding from the fingers of her other hand. Dave grinned, capturing the magazine just before it hit the floor and replacing it on the coffee table, he glanced at it wondering where she'd ever gotten an interest in a car magazine and then realizing she probably had no idea what she was reading, he chuckled low.

He gently placed a palm against the side of her head to prevent her from banging it when her arm slipped, and certainly it was bound to if he left her there much longer. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and he pushed the pillow from the end of the sofa beneath her head and without resistance she murmured her thanks and something about waking her for a feeding and then she snuggled into the lushness of the sofa slipping back into slumber.

Dave placed a finger to his lips indicating to the girls and Angie that they should make an effort to be quiet, and then he lifted the carrier with his son and ushered his daughters into the kitchen where they wouldn't disturb Nancy.

Angie donned her jacket again. "I remember how little sleep I got when the girls were babies." She smiled; tucking her index finger between the baby-boy's much tinier fingers. "Thank God it doesn't last forever."

"You guys look like you haven't even left the house." Vanessa began and then reached over to tweak the ragged stubble on her father's chin. "What's up with this? Trying out for ZZ-Top?"

"Ha…Ha…" He replied dryly.

"You look worse than _she_ does, are you sure you're not the one doing the feedings?" Vanessa cackled softly.

"We're taking shifts." He answered Vanessa's inquiry about the lack of sleep, as she folded a basket full of towels in an attempt to help. "Not with the feedings, but with the pacing and with the changing."

Vanessa smiled, looking over at the baby, once again content with being a big sister. No little boy who looked so peaceful and sweet could ever be coerced into shameless rabbit tricks and practical jokes. Perhaps if she channeled a little effort into Nathan she could influence him to behave with more etiquette than Audrey usually did. "I can help." She offered, her eyes warming with a hopefulness that made them sparkle like black onyx. "I could get up and help with feedings. Really, I wouldn't mind at all…especially on weekends."

"Nancy wants to continue feedings for another couple of weeks before sharing that responsibility." Dave told his daughter. "Besides, you have studies…however; I do know that _neither_ of us has a problem letting you keep an eye on him while we catch a _nap_." His voice drew out the word 'nap' emphasizing the importance of it. "Sleep is a valued commodity around here right now."

"I'll do KP duty." Audrey offered helpfully, snatching a slice of ham off of the platter even though she knew that the plates had yet to be dished up.

"Where'd you learn about KP Duty?" Dave cast an amused glance at his youngest daughter.

"Randy said pouters get stuck with KP Duty." She informed him, as if he should know. "Only I haven't pouted all week…but I'll still do it if it'll help."

Dave smiled at her sudden childlike attempt at maturity. "Dishes will suffice and maybe you can help me take out the trash."

"Not if there're dirty diapers in there." Audrey insisted firmly, the bridge of her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Unh, uh. No way, man."

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It had been a little over a week since he'd landed in Seattle and though he'd managed to keep a tight rein on his detestable temper and a slipping grasp on his sense of logic, Owen had not been able to control his emotion. Though he'd not broken anything in a blind rage or succumbed to a fit of tears and manly weeping, the Irishman was wracked with sorrow over what his surveillance continued to reveal—Two people, very much in love with one another. And the devil of it was that _one_ of those two people was supposed to have been in love with _him_.

Across from him in the outdoor café a scant ten yards away, Barren was perched casually in a wrought iron bistro chair, cradling a mug of some steaming beverage, while the man sitting across from her was cradling one of her calves as her leg was propped up on his knee. Owen knew that the man's name was Randy Orton, knew he was a wrestler on suspension from his current employer…Owen knew every single pertinent piece of information that comprised the outward physical and informational facet of the man. What he did _not_ know however, was why in the bloody hell Barren O'Neal had chosen _him_ for an ally. That was a tidbit Owen would not know until he could speak with her. And he couldn't speak with her until he felt out the situation a bit longer.

Barren's laughter was silky and musical, floating over the tops of the tables and winding its way through the patrons until it found his ears. But did she have to laugh for _him_? For Randy? Did it have to be _his_ comment that elicited such a beautiful part of her? Like the smile that was now lifting the corners of her mouth, giving way to her teeth and making the line of her jaw tighten and her eyes narrow in mirth. Why _Randy_? Why couldn't she have saved that smile for Owen? Her hair was falling down her back in cinnamon waves, when she used her hand to rake it over her shoulder, settling like a glimmering drapery over her scarf; Owen could see that Randy hadn't missed that particular vision either. Owen could see it, because he was watching Barren, missing a woman that was within a stone's throw; a woman who was clearly unfaithful to him, evidently pregnant with his child.

The affectionate pair laughed and chatted, oblivious of Owen's presence, just as they had been for more than a week. They kissed and cuddled, unknowing that their display of fondness was building a formidable case against her in Owen's mind. But one thing was for certain, Owen had never been one to shirk his responsibilities, and so if Barren were carrying his child…he'd be damned if he let another man raise it!

Owen palmed the ticket, when he saw the tall wrestler stand and excuse himself to the bathroom. It was time to make himself noticed…time to make sure that Barren remembered who she was and what in the bloody hell she was _supposed_ to be doing; and her duties, most definitely had _nothing_ to do with being entangled in a tryst with Randy Orton!

Barren's grin remained on her face even after Randy had excused himself for the bathroom and she stirred her steaming coffee, elated to know that they were going to visit the new baby boy today. Randy had wisely suggested that they give his friend's family time to adjust before making a visit and therefore, it had been a full week that Barren's search had been halted. No doubt there would be little opportunity amidst the chaos for Barren to continue looking for the key. With a stab of guilt, she thought about her current predicament, but the guilt washed away in a flash when she found herself uneager to continue the search. Barren was far too interested in the prospect of spending time with Randy and the ever present looming of the need to find the key was getting in the way of that.

Even so, Barren knew that for Duncan, she had to remain loyal. She couldn't find herself akin to a bird netted in the snare of feelings. Barren had to find a more creative way to get her hands on the key, and soon. No doubt, Sullivan's men would be coming for her, especially if they had somehow decided that checking out the persons involved in the wreck was a good idea.

Another pleasant, solid moment of happiness was suddenly ruined by her duty to Duncan and to a government she couldn't care less about. She'd not been in Ireland for over half of her life! Why should she be held responsible for risking her life to track down and hand deliver information that would serve to protect it and prove her loyalty to it? She pushed the coffee aside and slapped her napkin down on the table, turning in her seat to gaze at the foggy Sound. He was there.

At least she _thought_ that it was him. No, surely it couldn't be. Barren's heart slammed into her ribcage and her cheeks burned with humiliation as if being caught doing something she shouldn't. She suddenly went rigid, sitting up straight in the chair, nearly spilling her coffee in the process. Owen? No. It had to be her imagination, for when she glanced again, he was gone. Had it been Owen, he would have engaged her in some way. She just knew he would have. Heart still stuttering in her chest, eyes still locked on the area by the railing where she was sure he'd been, Barren nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard Randy's voice.

"What's wrong?" He chuckled softly, noticing the light pallor of her face. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"I did." Her response floated out on a whisper.

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He felt the vibration of the phone in his front pocket, but the only thing it succeeded in doing was to startle him make Max misstep the pedal on the sewing machine. The fabric puckered below the needle, catching a snarl of thread in the plate and he cursed softly, pulling away from only one in a vast array of projects that were piling up. His hand found the phone and he tugged it from the pocket, flipping it open and lifting it to his ear.

"Uh, yeah." He said distractedly fighting to free the fabric from its tangle and then corrected himself, answering it the proper way in the case that it turned out to be a client. "N-Fusion Fashions, Max Hadaway. May I help you, please?"

Max knew he sounded rushed, when he answered the phone, maybe even a little rude. The past few days' hectic hassle had been nothing but a source of constant irritation for him. Though Barren had not been present, Max hadn't been able to do little more than peek in on the baby boy that had been howling steadily every couple of hours since the day he'd come home. The crying hadn't bothered Max; in fact he could truly sympathize with the boy if anyone possibly could. There were certainly times that Max, himself, had felt the almost irrepressible urge to howl when _he_ was hungry, so there was no faulting baby Nate for that. What bothered Max was his own discomfort with the entire situation. He no longer felt welcome in the Bautista household and most definitely not because of Dave or Nancy, but because of his own fear of rejection and his tendency to recall the calloused and hurtful words that Barren had spouted. Her hateful reassurance that the Bautista's no longer needed or wanted him in their life was looming over his head like a thick, grey cloud.

Besides that, he had an indeterminable amount of orders stacking up with no help whatsoever, from his partner. That too was something he could do nothing about, because Nancy had no concept of what she was supposed to be doing as a partner and so Max found himself stitched to the task of holding the whole business on his shoulders. And Max would be a liar if he didn't admit that those shoulders were getting damned tired. He had no sense of organization or neatness or the flow of a time-table. He was notoriously bad with deadlines and the partnership's bottom-line was suffering because of it. Two well known clients had pulled their spring-line, deciding to take it elsewhere until the chaos died down and Max was reluctant to tell Nancy and so he hadn't. The last thing he wanted was her thoughts of failure flying up and smacking her right in the face, especially when she seemed like she might be settling into things. He knew he would just have to juggle the remaining clients, possibly even hire a receptionist or some other part-timer with a decent grasp of time management until Nancy was able to get back into the swing of things.

"Max." It was Littlejohn.

"Yeah?" Max plowed his hand through his hair, making furrows where his fingers had been.

The man cleared his throat and spoke stoically. "We have to talk."

"I'm all ears." Max instantly perked up.

"I stumbled onto a few things regarding Barren that concern me…most specifically, they involve her brother."

"Go on."

"I ran a check on him, his name is Duncan O'Neal and to be frank with you, I was actually bound and determined that you were having me sniff out a dead lead." Littlejohn began. "That was until; I began to inquire as to his whereabouts." He cleared his throat again.

Max listened, on the edge of his seat.

"I tracked him down to a congressman's office. Congressman McCaughey, to be exact. Now, I know from my sources that Duncan was an accountant for the Congressman. McCaughey's been controversial for a couple of years now, as there was some speculation as to where he was receiving such a large amount of private campaign contributions…"

"You think he's doing something illegal?" Max asked.

"I didn't say that." Littlejohn insisted. "And legally I can't give an opinion of that nature, but…" He continued. "I said '_was'_, in reference to Duncan, because as far as I can tell, he's not been working for the congressman for weeks now. I made an attempt to get into the Congressman's office to inquire as to his whereabouts and I was tossed out on my ass, figuratively, by two Irishmen in suits who threatened to turn a certain part of my anatomy into a radio antenna cover."

Max might have laughed if he hadn't been so intent on knowing more about the situation. "You weren't able to get much info then." He deduced.

"Actually, I was able to get plenty, being as I ran his social security number and cross referenced it with several different birthdates, ones that I found in some of the paperwork that his landlord, car dealer and banker had."

"How the hell did you come across all of that?" Max asked, duly impressed. "Isn't there some sort of privacy act that forbids that?"

"Sure there is, but lots of things are public record too. The lease info I obtained as a manner of public record, the apartment manager just happened to be too moronic to cover the social and the birth-date when she made a copy for me. I'll admit _that_ was a bonus I wasn't counting on. She also supplied me with a letter from a towing company that was sent to pick up his car since it was being repossessed by the dealer. I pretended I was his uncle and inquired with the car dealer as to whether I could pay his balance in full and showed them the social and birth-date and they confirmed for me that his birth date did not match."

"What does all of that mean?" Max inquired, somewhat dizzy from the explanation.

"Well, Max, once I cross referenced everything I discovered that not only is dear old Duncan not working for McCaughey anymore, but he's paid up rent for a year in an apartment that is completely empty and hasn't been lived in for almost two months. His car was registered to a false birth-date and the registrar's office has it licensed to a girl who can't be traced because she doesn't exist. His bank accounts are a complete enigma; one of them containing fifty-thousand dollars was completely drained the day you say Barren had her wreck. Yet, another of the accounts with over two-hundred thousand dollars hasn't been touched in more than a year." Littlejohn was puzzled. "And for someone prepared enough to pay up his rent for a year, he was careless enough to let all of his utilities be shut off."

"You think Barren knows where he is?" Max asked. "The time-table certainly seems right…they would have gone missing right about the same time."

"I have no clue as to how much relevance her departure from normal life has to _his_, but I'm no fool and it's more than just coincidence. I think someone wanted anyone who might be looking to think Duncan ran off, but the signs don't point to it." Littlejohn insisted.

"Do you think he might have been murdered?" Max felt the blood drain from his face.

"I can't say that I believe that at this point, but it certainly confuses me that he'd pay rent on an apartment that is completely empty." Littlejohn sounded confused. "I'm of the belief that if he'd intentionally disappeared, he'd have removed all of his funds, from both accounts." He leaned back in his chair causing the legs to creak. "Accountants are notoriously good at covering their tracks, this was too sloppy…a sloppy attempt by someone to try to make the whole thing look neat."

Whatever bit of irony, Littlejohn was trying to convey, Max got the message and what read loud and clear was that there was foul play involved and that could spell trouble for everyone.

"I still have feelers out for Duncan's whereabouts, so watch your friends and make sure that you keep me updated to possible changes on Barren. I'll know more in a day or so after I can pull Duncan's tax records and see what he's been up to, it'll also give me an 'in' where the congressman's office is concerned. No one likes daily correspondence with the IRS and if I find one decimal out of place on those returns then I can bust in there and possibly rock the boat enough to get some info from their human resources department."

"Damn, you're good." Max complimented the man.

"Well that's why they pay me the big bucks, Max." He laughed. "You'll understand what I mean when you get the bill."

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"I can't just show up on his doorstep." Lynn lifted a brow, casting an incredulous glance over her shoulder to Evan who was working through his eggs with polite ease.

He lifted his gaze and laid the fork down wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin before responding. "Why not? He's yer brother isn't he?"

"So facetious." She said, pouring her own coffee and turning to lean against the counter and contemplate him. "Yes, he is my baby brother…and yes I made peace with him." She sipped the hot brew. "But I can't just pop in unannounced."

"You're going to have to tell them about us someday." Evan told her resuming his eating. "Unless of course yer really ashamed of me and the debauchery I lured you into." His eyes darkened as a smile curved his full lips.

She smiled and huffed. "I know that." She placed the cup on the counter and chewed her bottom lip. "I just barely broke the news to him that I haven't been secretly harboring his death wish." She explained twining her fingers together. "If I go for a visit without announcing it, he'll be caught off guard and think I'm up to something."

_'That's the whole idea.'_ Evan thought to himself. He pushed his plate forward gently and slid the chair from behind the table. Standing, he approached her.

Lynn watched him approach with almost feral movements. Something about Evan always seemed dark, velvet, secretive. Every look, every word, every motion effortless and easy, as if he were confident with everything, concerned with nothing. She was sure she might be suffocating, for she hadn't even breathed the entire time that he crossed the floor.

Evan planted a palm on the counter top on either side of her ample hips, and he leaned forward, making certain that his face was a mere whisper from hers. "You're afraid they won't like me, aren't you?" His voice was unassuming, soft and yet the question sliced through her exterior, hitting its mark effectively.

"No." She said softly, with inflection, placing her palms on his jaws. She cradled his face, pressing her lips briefly to his. "I swear, that's not it."

He nuzzled her neck, nipping softly at the flesh there. "So, it would appear that I'm good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to marry."

"Marry?!" Lynn pushed his face from the curve of her neck as an expression of bewilderment contorted her face. "Who said anything about marriage?"

He laughed, returning to his exploration of her neck. "I didn't say now…this moment in time." He ran his lips over the skin behind her ear. "But someday…isn't that what everyone in love does, someday?" His words caressed her ear and her heart.

"Well, yeah…I-I guess most do." She stuttered, closing her eyes to the feel of his hands roaming upward over her back.

"Well then remind me someday to ask you." Evan ordered softly. "And maybe I will."

"Do you really want to meet my family?" Lynn asked, wondering if he knew what he was in for. "My father is extremely opinionated, h-he can be very obtrusive and my mother will have you behind the business end of a broom sweeping up the kitchen the minute she sees you." She stammered. "My father's gardener will mad-dog you for about a half hour before he decides whether he likes you or not and then he'll probably cuss you out in Spanish and I'm just not sure you'll feel comfortable in that atmosphere." Lynn tugged his head from between her breasts so she could look in his eyes.

"Well then it's probably better if I reacquaint myself with yer brother first and he can put a good word in fer me." Evan pulled her hands away, pinning them behind her back so he could proceed with his nuzzling, unhindered. "Besides Randy already likes me because I gave him a great deal on the ring." His voice was muffled by her cleavage and his tongue darted out to lave the soft valley between her breasts.

"I suppose I could call him and set something up." She whispered, pulling in a swift breath when she felt him press his body forward against hers.

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	31. Chapter 30

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 30

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"We have met the enemy and it is us."

-_Walt Kelly, "Pogo comic strip"_

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Her back was pressed against the headboard, legs crossed as she held Nate, casting an amused glance at her youngest stepdaughter. Vanessa also seemed to find Audrey's expression humorous, but it wasn't until Audrey made her first verbal assessment of the act of her stepmother feeding her brother, that the well leashed laughter finally bubbled forth from Nancy's throat.

"I can't believe you have to feed him from your boob." Audrey scowled with disgust and flopped her tiny body around so she could no longer behold the terrible sight before her. "That's just _gross_."

Vanessa grinned, tucking her legs under her as she made herself more comfortable on the end of the bed in the master bedroom. "You might not remember, but that's how Mom fed _you_." Vanessa told her.

Audrey nearly snorted her repugnance. "Mom would _never_ feed someone with a boob."

"I bet if you ask her she'll tell you she did." Vanessa laughed, pushing her hair over her shoulder with a sweep of her hand.

Two weeks had passed since Nate's arrival home, yet Audrey still couldn't seem to get used to the idea of breast feeding. Though she'd not vocalized her opinion on the matter until now, she had been fully content to hightail it the other direction the moment a feeding ensued.

"Does it bother you, Audrey?" Nancy asked, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement.

"I just don't know why you can't feed him some milk out of a bottle." She announced, lifting her hand in exasperation. "I used to feed all my baby dolls from a bottle and that really does work."

Nancy nodded her head in understanding, veiling the smile that tugged at her mouth. "Well, I plan to use bottles later, but for now, this seems to be the best way for him to get what he needs."

Audrey nodded skeptically and then concluded. "Well I guess its okay, but it's still pretty gross." She slid down off of the bed announcing that she was going to go play with her rabbit and pounced out of the room with nary a backward glance.

Nancy shook her head and grinned. Audrey had appeared evermore determined to avoid the two most disgusting aspects of having a new brother, feeding and changing and yet still, she was a tad impatient with having to wait for her turn to teach the new brother something. She seemed curious and speculative as to his behavior and even a little wary of him at times, because he was as she described; very unpredictable and louder than the Disney channel.

…_Audrey had been reluctant to hold her brother after a leaky diaper had left her with a wet spot on her prized cape and most definitely, she'd had second thoughts about him after seeing the tiny boy spit up in Vanessa's hair. Her questions and summations had ranged from _'Why does he always sleep so much? He's gonna miss all the fun stuff.'_ to _'How come his head can't be up straight like ours? He's sorta floppy.'_ all the way to, _'Why is he so loud when he's hungry? We're not deaf.'_ Audrey had expressed her concerns to her father and to Nancy, also citing that she was sure there must be something wrong with the boy because he wouldn't smile or look directly at her when she performed her magic tricks._

'I wanted him to learn all of this for our brother/sister act, so I was starting early…'_ Audrey had insisted. _'But he acts like he doesn't care.'

_Nancy recalled how Dave had placated his youngest daughter with an ostensibly appropriate explanation. _'Well, he really does care…but he just can't tell you yet.'_ He'd explained, tucking a stray hair back into her messy ponytail. _'When he can talk, I bet he'll let you know that he likes your tricks.'

'How come he doesn't look right at me?'_ Audrey pouted. _'I know my tricks are good.'

_Dave had grinned, casting a glance sidelong at Nancy. _'Nate can't really see anything further back than about three feet right now.'_ It seemed a good point of reasoning and would help Dave to avoid having to explain the intricacies of the human eye; rods and cones and such and the fact that babies that age actually saw things in reverse as opposed to right side up. He was certain Audrey wouldn't be satisfied with a rundown of how babies under a year didn't have depth perception either and so he left it at that._

'Well,'_ Audrey reasoned. _'We should get him glasses.'

'In a few months, his eyesight will be fine and he won't need them.'_ Dave had been verging on laughter. _'Keep doing your tricks because even though he can't see them, he'll get used to the way you explain them and then it's bound to help your act when he's older.'

_Audrey seemed marginally satisfied, nodding and hitching her chin a bit higher. _'I hope he knows that when we headline in Vegas, I'm gonna get top billing, since I'm oldest…you should talk to him about that so he knows.'

_Laughter couldn't have been contained with an iron muzzle. Dave tilted his head back and roared, feeling tears of mirth cooling in the corners of his eyes… _

Nancy laughed again as she related the story to Vanessa, finishing up with the feeding. "I think she may have as good a chance being a top comedian as she does being a magician."

Vanessa nodded. "Maybe she can combine both elements and make a fortune…then she can afford to hire a maid, since she can't pick up after herself." She hadn't meant to pepper the suggestion with such disdain, but after weeks of frustration, it simply came out that way before she could muster the decorum to reform it. Vanessa chewed the corner of her lip, staring at her sleeping brother. How could life be so very peaceful for him, when it was utter turmoil all around him? Vanessa envied Nate. Perfectly at ease, full and dry; content to be in the presence of the people around him. He had no worries about purses or rabbits, final exams or lost prom dates. The sleeping boy didn't know tension or time constraints, injustices or neglect. Vanessa could only wish for such a sweet and simple existence. "Can I hold him?" She asked, almost overwhelmed with the need to make certain the boy knew she adored him.

Nancy sensed the shift in Vanessa, her formerly fond attitude while hearing the story, had turned to a slight sadness. "Sure." She transferred Nate into Vanessa's arms and sat back for a moment more to appraise the teenager, who was gliding a tender finger down the tiny bridge of the baby's nose. "I hope you know that I never meant for Audrey to do what she did with the rabbit." Nancy swallowed. "I wasn't really intending to hide it from you and so I'm sorry that I didn't deal with it the way I should have. I guess I was a little bit scared to rock the boat more than I had already."

Vanessa looked up from Nate, meeting Nancy's gaze. "It was unfair…you _never_ would have let her get away with that before. You've never done something like that…you always made her have consequences when she goes haywire."

"I know it's been hard on you and I wish I could remember everything the way it was, especially since I think we used to be close."

One lone tear rolled down the teen's perfectly unblemished cheek and landed somewhere in the mass of her baby brother's curls. After a long pause, she spoke. "It's not just the fact that _we_ were close…"

"What then?" Nancy prompted softly when she heard the emotional catch in Vanessa's voice.

"I used to watch the way you and my dad were with each other." Vanessa said. "The two of _you_ used to be so close. Joking all of the time, laughing, teasing each other…did you know we used to have food fights around here at least once a month, because the two of you started them? You and Dad acted like a couple of immature kids and you could really tell that you loved each other…and it's not like I'm upset because he didn't have that with my mom, because he's my Daddy and I love him, so I'm glad he found it with someone. I can handle a lot of things…I can deal with Audrey and her messy ways and her pranks. I can even deal with all of the crazy changes because of your—amnesia…but I can't deal with seeing my Dad the way he is." Her lower lip quavered as she fought to hold her emotions in check. "He's so sad, even if he doesn't say so. He never moped before—_ever_ and now he does it almost all the time. He looks so tired…like he's a hundred years old or something."

Nancy knew that Vanessa was right, though not fully. Dave's behavior had been prone toward the melancholy, but in rare instances, Nancy had seen a vast variance in his character. She had seen him blow his top when things didn't fall in line, though not with violent outcome. She'd witnessed him when he was tender and gentlemanly, funny and exasperating. Nancy had watched him play tricks and use clever harmless manipulation of circumstances to get his way, but more than anything she truly had seen him embroiled in a cloak of sadness. She knew she was the reason…and the only way to remedy that unhappiness was if she sought to make changes. "I am trying, Vanessa—I really wish you could see that. I really wish you had some sympathy for what it's like not to remember anything and to have to try to rebuild something from scratch…it's scary stuff; not just for me, but for you guys too."

"It's just that—"

"I get the impression you don't think I love your Dad?" Nancy ventured, wondering if that was her assumption of Vanessa's meaning, or if perhaps it was the lingering question that she herself was haunted by.

Vanessa lifted her head with tears glistening in her eyes, lending to them a dark, but hopeful luminescence. She reminded Nancy of Dave. Vanessa smiled despite her sorrow and then pinning her stepmother with an assured glance, she affirmed. "No, I _know_ you love my Dad. I just don't think that _you_ know how much you love him."

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He racked the heavy barbell the moment he felt the searing cramp in his triceps muscle; opting to put a cease to the vigorous workout he'd subjected himself to, lest he do unwanted damage to an already testy muscle. Hours ago, Dave had packed his gym bag and sought refuge at the local _Gold's Gym_. And since quality sleep wasn't an option at home, he figured he may as well do something productive during the hours he was awake. So with the nonchalant encouragement of his wife, who seemed far more capable of operating without shut-eye than he, Dave had determined that he would immerse himself into a workout that would leave him with little to no energy. This might contribute to his ability to fall asleep naturally.

In two weeks he'd become such a light sleeper that everything from a cricket chirp to passing car had woken him from sleep. And though Nate was affording he and his wife an extra half hour of silent peace between feedings, Dave had found himself unable to go back to sleep once woken by a random noise. Instead, he had found it much more pleasing to watch the baby boy sleep and to wonder what in the world he'd done right in life, that God had deemed him worthy of being a parent.

The chaotic jumble of the household had died down considerably and Dave Batista had had the joy of watching the routines fall back into place despite the massive alterations in schedules. The laundry had finally become manageable, the dishes were in cupboards before the stock ran out and even the layer of dust that had settled on every surface had mysteriously disappeared; that he could attribute to Vanessa, who had taken it upon herself to do any chore that presented itself.

Audrey seemed content to be a big sister from a distance and was becoming less and less disorganized everyday, but only when Vanessa had prompted her to do her part. All should have seemed perfect, but it wasn't. Dave had one month until he would be back on the road, entangled in a hectic WWE schedule and though he wanted badly to be back in the ring, what he really wanted most was to be back in Nancy's good graces…back in the forefront of her memory. It wasn't enough that she had seemed to make fragile peace with him; not enough that she apparently was much more tolerant of him than before. None of it was enough.

He wanted to have back what he'd lost and he felt as if he was banging his head against a brick wall. Dave could glance from left to right in the weight area alone and count on two hands the number of women who were currently ogling him. And likely it was because they knew who _he_ was and hoped he'd take notice of _them_. And that was the torment of it; he could have any one in a handful of women who wanted him and yet, his very own wife—the woman who was supposed to want him more than life itself—seemed satisfied with mere platonic relations and amicable coexistence.

He almost ground his teeth together in frustration as he snatched his bag from within the locker tossing the hand-towel into the hamper. His shoulder and back were cramping fiercely, his libido was sadly neglected and he hadn't slept soundly in two weeks. Dave Batista was in sad, sad shape and he was pretty certain that if he didn't start taking better care of himself, he wouldn't be ready when it came time to step back into his role on the SmackDown roster. He was positive that a bath, a sandwich and some uninterrupted slumber was what would do the trick for his sense of stability and his aching muscles, so he opted out of showering at the gym and left in haste, headed for home.

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Holding tightly to the folder full of paperwork, LittleJohn crossed the parking-lot of the federal building, with determined strides and jerked the door open fluidly. He bypassed the pinch-faced secretary once he found himself on McCaughey's floor and pushed open the heavy door amidst the woman's near hysterical protesting. Disguised as a reporter for the local paper, LittleJohn shrugged off the woman and entered the office without hesitation; having interrupted a meeting, which he was certain, had _nothing_ to do with Government affairs.

"I'm Alex Mason." He announced himself with a no-nonsense air of superiority and slapped the folder down on the desk in front of Congressman McCaughey. LittleJohn seemed to harbor no fear over the two large bodyguards who swooped down on him in mere seconds, latching onto his forearms. "I came here to find out how you plan to explain tax fraud to the citizens of this country in your reelection speeches."

The verbal outburst caught McCaughey off guard, but his expression of shock was quickly replaced by a thinly concealed smirk. "Leave off." He ordered softly to the two men who were hoisting LittleJohn off of his feet, prepared to 'escort' him bodily from the premises. "Mr. Mason, was it?" His voice bore a slight Irish brogue and his eyes, though sharp and clear held no hint of malice.

"I believe I already told you who I was." LittleJohn said as he straightened his suit coat and cleared his throat. "And since I already know who _you_ are, we can dispense with introductions and get right down to the business of explaining."

McCaughey nodded, seemingly amused. "Well normally, all interviews are coordinated by my publicist—"

"I can certainly see how _this_ might have been one they'd have refused." LittleJohn hitched his chin up higher.

"I suppose that in this case I can make an exception." McCaughey resumed his sitting position as soon as his outstretched hand of greeting was refused by the reporter. "What would you like to know?"

"I want to know about the tax fraud and—I want to know where Duncan O'Neal can be found."

McCaughey nodded, feigning apathy, but the calculated pause before speaking told LittleJohn more than words would have ever served to. "I was hoping someone might come forward and shed some light on that particular question for _me_." He opened his drawer and pulled out a cigar, snipping the tip off into the wastebasket beneath the desk and then he lit it, puffing heartily before resuming his answer. "I've not seen Duncan in almost two months and so I can safely say I have no knowledge of his whereabouts."

"Then why are you continuing to pay his salary?" LittleJohn opened the folder and jabbed one blunt tipped finger against the paper on the top of the pile.

"Well, I never believed there was a crime in that." The smoke from the cigar curled in a stream above his head. "Duncan _was_ and still _is_ considered to be a salaried employee, not an hourly employee and so therefore until I know more about why he hasn't shown up to resume his duties, it would be unlawful for me to suspend his pay."

"I'd have thought, given that sort of dramatic incompetence, you'd have had the good sense to fire him…or at the very least—to report him missing."

McCaughey laughed. A deep gravelly sort of laughter that grated against LittleJohn's already perturbed senses. "I have authorities looking into that." He said succinctly. His contrived poker-face gave nothing away and though LittleJohn knew that the man's claim was a lie, he could in no wise accuse the Congressman of foul play until he was certain of it. "And as for the tax fraud…Do you actually think that if I were doing something so very illegal, that I'd make it so blatantly obvious that a mere reporter could get his hands on proof of it?"

Thinking about it, LittleJohn had to admit that the Congressman might be right. Maybe it had been too easy to acquire. He'd done some serious digging, but the truth of the matter was: that if a government official were being fraudulent, it should have been far harder to track than it had been. Now LittleJohn felt foolish. He'd come in with all of his assumptions and though he was sure there was something of an illegal nature transpiring behind the scenes, he had quickly begun to realize that the discovery of mere tax discrepancies was possibly just a clever smoke screen for something far more heinous.

"Why all of the smoke and mirrors then?" LittleJohn ventured, becoming more nervous by the minute.

"Let's assume for one second that you were right about your accusations." McCaughey began, a look of disdain coloring his features. "And all that you say is true. Don't you think that I would have made it much more difficult for you to get in here?" He nestled the cigar in the cleft of the ashtray. "Do you actually think it was an accident that you got past security? That you simply left your expensive car in the lot—one too pricey for a mere reporter to afford, by the way—and just waltzed into this office, slamming your shit down on my desk without being halted?"

LittleJohn began to sweat, but he resisted the impulse to wipe his brow.

"Are you so foolish that you actually believe that you weren't recognized on the security monitors from your attempts to bypass them last week? If I hadn't wanted you to get in here—you never would have made it past the elevators." He laughed again, shaking his head this time. "I would think that even a Private Detective, hired by someone too curious for their own good, might be able to recognize a well placed trap when it reared its head."

"Is he dead?" LittleJohn asked firmly, trying to pierce the calm self assured façade of the Congressman. "Did you have Duncan O'Neal murdered?"

"Well, I tell you what," McCaughey began, a cruel twist lifting his lips. "Why don't you just go to hell…and then you can ask him all about it when you get there."

Detective LittleJohn never could have seen it coming; never could have anticipated the long knife piercing the flesh of his left, upper back, its razor sharp tip coming to rest in the center of his heart. His widened expression quickly transformed to one of blackened, pained disappointment just before his lifeless body was prevented from pitching forward onto the desk by the bodyguard who grasped him from behind. The man quickly and effectively wrapped a towel around LittleJohn's face to prevent the trickle of blood from his lips leaving any trace of the deed on the shiny desk. Another towel was pressed against the wound in his back and in minutes the body was swiftly stashed in a roll of plastic cloth in the closet next to the desk.

"I believe I'll treat my secretary to lunch." McCaughey announced calmly, tamping out the cigar. "Clear the whole floor for the lunch hour and get him down in the freight elevator. Erase the surveillance tapes from the first floor and get rid of his car. I trust that you and the boys can handle things as usual?"

The guard nodded and resumed the familiar task of preparing the offensive dead body for disposal.

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Owen was finally satisfied with the knowledge that Barren was likely not pregnant. The large blue gift bag bearing the bright yellow words _'It's A Boy!'_ told him that she'd probably been shopping for her friend's baby. The new knowledge was a relief that he wasn't content to allow himself to feel because it would only serve to dampen his anger toward her and her betrayal and because it would suddenly remind him that if she wasn't latching onto Randy Orton for pregnancy reasons; she was latching onto him because she was in love with him.

Though she seemed happy, swinging the bag while waiting for Randy to lock the car, Owen knew that her recent sightings of him had her rattled. In the past week, he'd made certain that she'd gotten almost phantom-like glimpses of him in various places; once in the mall when she was in the glass elevator and she had passed him while he stood by the second floor railing. Owen would have paid money to have caught her confused expression on tape. Another time, she had been at a stoplight in center city and he'd purposely passed her going the other direction; then too, she was so rattled she'd almost run the car onto the median.

He had gotten to her; gotten under her skin and that was exactly what he had planned to do. She was bound to get nervous and skittish and that would prompt her to get moving. Owen loved her, he truly did. He didn't want her to be so scared that she messed up and neglected getting the key in her haste, but he knew he had to give her a jolt to wake her up and get her complacent little fanny moving. She needed to be about the business of finding the key and if she didn't get started within a few days, he was going to be forced to intervene. All he could do now was to watch and follow, making sure she was safe, but he had already determined that within the next 48 hours he would make his move.

Owen had been sitting in the car for about twenty minutes, waiting for the two to emerge from the townhouse and when finally they did, he noticed how Barren glanced in all directions, subtly so as if she were trying to determine if Owen were around. Then she laced her fingers with Randy's and the two departed. He knew they would be headed for their house; he knew that they would go inside and not come out again for hours. He knew that they would be making love in that house, because that's what they had been doing last night when he'd scaled the balcony and peered in through the bedroom window, where the barely parted draperies had revealed the true extent of her duplicity.

But he could win her back; he _would_ win her back, especially once he was able to get her alone and remind her of the danger she was in and how he was the only one who could truly help her out of it.

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He found himself too exhausted to even remove his gym bag from the car, as he exited it, watching the garage door belch in protest as it descended. Dave entered the house quietly so as not to disturb his son if he were sleeping. Audrey was seated at the kitchen island, munching on a carrot that she intermittently shared with the rabbit.

"Let him have his own, but don't share with him." Dave told his daughter, reaching into the refrigerator to hand her a fresh carrot. "Don't eat after him or you'll get sick." He wasn't positive if what he told her was true, but he would have said anything to stop her from eating after an animal.

There was no sign of his wife in the adjoining room and he was sure she might also be sleeping. Wisely, Nancy had determined that the best time for catching some z's was while Nate was snoozing. Dave could only wish that he was able to do the same, but he only found himself able to doze off when someone else was watching his son. He was certain that if he fell asleep soundly, he would never hear the child's cries, but even that was an improbability when he thought of how loud the boy could be. Reaching deep into the fridge, pulling leftovers from within, he stifled a groan. The cramp was back again in full force, sending a fiery twinge through the muscle in his arm.

"Are you okay?" Nancy asked from the doorway.

He must have grimaced, he thought. That's probably how she knew that he was in pain. "Little sore." Was all Dave said as he opened the cupboard and reached inside for a plate. Even that minor act sent another jolt of pain through his arm and so he retracted it without retrieving the dish and grasped a fork from the drawer below.

"You seem more than a _little_ sore." She inserted softly, leaning against the doorframe to watch him.

"Yep." He mumbled, stabbing the meat with his fork and popping it in his mouth without bothering to heat it. "I think I just need a hot bath and some sleep."

"Sure." Nancy nodded, her voice still lowered. "I feel great so I can take care of everything for the rest of the day, just don't expect a gourmet meal…and make sure you close the door because we don't have earplugs anywhere."

_She_ felt great. He almost huffed in incredulous hostility. Sure _she_ felt great…_she_ had the good sense to seek sleep, when all _he_ could do was worry—about _her_ memory, _her_ partnership with Max, _her_, in general. "I'm just gonna take a bath after I eat. Maybe use some salts or something." He grumbled, looking directly at her. She felt great…she looked great too he thought, finally taking the time to _really_ look at her. She was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, whereas he was bleary-eyed and dragging ass. Gone was the lethargy that had plagued her the very first week after his son's birth. No longer was her stance hunched, as if she'd been in chains for days. Also gone, was the cache of baggy shirts she had been wearing, only to be replaced by the pale blue tank-top and the velvet warm-up pants that hugged a figure which had rebounded with astonishing rapidity. Was that her suddenly flat tummy peeking from between the top's hem and pant's waistband? And that couldn't be her ribs that he could see, clearly defined once again over her diaphragm. Holy hell! His eyes traveled upward and he almost bit the fork in half when he realized that those were in fact, her very full breasts…much fuller than before, pressing against the fabric, almost crying out to be touched. His mouth was watering and he might have continued to immerse himself in an openmouthed perusal of what he couldn't have, had not her stance changed so drastically.

No longer relaxed and leaning against the doorframe, Nancy stood rigidly upright, almost as if she'd been yanked away from her former position, by an unseen force.

"Salts?" her voice, though well controlled, still seemed a harsh squawk to her own ears.

"Yes, salts." He looked up from her breasts to her face. "I think we have some, somewhere."

"You know what?" Nancy said, her mind scrambling wildly with visions of him finding the key in the bottom of the box of Epsom Salts. "I took a shower and left a huge pile of clothes up there, maybe you could shower in the girl's bathroom and I can clean up the mess."

"I don't care how the shower looks." He said with a sigh, tossing the empty container in the sink. "I only care about the tub."

Nancy watched as Dave took another step forward and she reacted quickly, nervously. "Let me run your bath." Her voice was clipped, hopeful and distinctly anxious. "You wait here. It's obvious you're sore and so I'll go do that for you."

Dave looked down at her hand, which was pressed softly, yet solidly against the wall of his chest. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn't touch him…that she should just leave him alone because his patience and sexual restraint were both sorely tested. The sight of her cleavage, only a foot away from his own body, the feel of her hand, warm and firm on his chest; both were inciting a deep seed of resentment for her neglect of him. "Fine." He snapped, wishing he hadn't been rude. He stepped back, when her hand fell away and her expression indicated her confusion.

Nancy cleared her throat and turned on her heel, bounding up the stairs toward the bathroom. She wasn't certain why he seemed so frustrated with her all of a sudden, or why his expression was so dark. Nancy thought his attitude might be a result of his soreness and weariness, but his curt response still bothered her. Twisting the knob on the faucet, she watched as the flow from the waterfall spout began to send the water splashing into the bottom of the gargantuan tub. She pulled a stack of towels from the cabinet and plopped them down hurriedly on the bench, turning to the cabinet under the sink so she could retrieve the box of salts and find a new hiding place for the key. She yanked the door open poking her head beneath the sink…and her heart almost ceased to beat.

The box, which had been sitting undisturbed beneath her sink for weeks now, was gone. "Oh, hell." Nancy grumbled as she exited the bathroom and stalked down the hallway to the girl's room.

Vanessa was sitting on her bed, with her I-pod blaring in her ears, bobbing her head to the beat of some incomprehensible top-ten track. So naturally she was shocked when her stepmother plucked one bud from her ear.

"Did you take the Epsom salts out of my bathroom?" Nancy asked, trying to maintain a sense of calm.

"No." Vanessa said frankly. "I think Audrey had them last, she was reading on the internet about how to make a salt lick for rabbits."

Nancy nodded and turned in haste, hopping down the stairs to find Audrey. She almost stepped on the rabbit when it hopped by, with Audrey close behind. "Hey." Nancy whispered quickly, snatching Audrey's cape to halt her pursuit of the rabbit. "Did you take the Epsom salts out of my bathroom?"

"Yeah, but I didn't get to use them because the recipe for salt lick says you have to—"

"Where are they?" Nancy cut her short, very close to a state of panic.

"Under the kitchen sink." Audrey said noncommittally as she bent down to grasp the rabbit, who had turned in his tracks and come hopping back toward the kitchen.

"I have them." Dave said, holding the box in one hand, an expression of fatigued irritation etched into his features. "If the water's running, I'll just head up there now."

"No!" Nancy snapped and then shook her head as if to erase the brusque reaction to her fear. "I'll do it…I said I'd do it."

Nancy pulled the salts from Dave's hand without asking if she should do so and despite the annoyed glare that it brought forth from her already fed-up husband. She was up the staircase before he could object and into the bathroom, closing the door and twisting the lock. She scraped a knuckle on the hardened wood in the process, but that was the least of her worries. Nancy shook the box to shift the layer of salts so she could pull the key out, but it was so heavily buried that it didn't surface. "Damn." She hissed, wiggling her finger in the box attempting to bring the key closer to the top of the salt, but even that didn't work.

Dave nearly stomped up the stairs in his irked state, mumbling a few choice curses as he made his way to the bath that was strangely extracting such a tense reaction from his wife. His hand met with the handle and after a few ineffective twists of the knob, he realized that the door was locked. His brow furrowed deeply.

"What the hell is this shit?" He blasted as his anger and irritation surfaced completely. "Why the hell is the door locked?"

Nancy jumped when she heard him from the other side of the door. "I'm sorry, I must've—"

"Open the damned door." He warned, barely able to conceal his desire to roar. "You don't lock a man out of his own bathroom!"

"Give me just a sec—I was trying to make it—" Nancy tore the top of the box off and was about to delve her whole hand inside, when his loud and beastly threat from the other side of the door forced her to jump and she fumbled the box, sending it tumbling over into the tub.

Dave was on the verge of ripping the door from the hinges in his rage. Rage over the lack of sex, lack of sleep, lack of progress in his relationship and the fact that he'd been locked out of his very own bathroom! "If I have to break this fuckin' door down—" His threat left unfinished, Dave contemplated ramming his shoulder into the door, but the throbbing knot in his arm reminded him that he probably would not be well served in doing so.

Nancy watched in horror as the salt floated in swirls around the metal key as it hit the bottom of the tub with a soft plunk, its noise being muffled by the density of the water.

"Just one second!" Nancy groused as soon as she heard another frantic, angry jiggle of the doorknob. "You're so impatient!" She hadn't meant for it come out. Nancy had only been thinking the words, but in her panicked state she had let them slip out and they had only succeeded in drawing forth a near growl and another threat from the other side of the door.

"You're damned right I'm impatient!" Teeth clenched, he took two steps back, preparing to unceremoniously kick the door in.

Nancy smacked her hand down on the switch activating the tub's jets. She knew she had to get the key, which she currently could not reach from the side of the tub and knowing that he was intent on coming in and would see the blasted key if it weren't concealed, she acted quickly. In her trembling haste, she managed to dump half a bottle of bubble-bath in the tub in her desperate attempt to hide the metallic key, that was at present, shimmering brightly from the bottom and center of the tub. But that act proved to be a bad idea as soon she witnessed the jets vigorously coaxing the froth into an unmanageable mess, sending foam in a foot high layer above the water's surface.

She could no longer see the key, her husband was banging on the door so loudly that she was certain it would wake Nate and if she didn't get her hands on the key before Dave found it, she was certain he would be putting his hands on her. Leaning over the tub in desperation, she planted one hand on the edge to steady herself, but it met with a drip of bubble-bath and slipped forward. Nancy lost her balance altogether, sliding face first and fully clothed into the massive foaming tub. She emerged sputtering and coughing, her hand wrapped tightly around the key, just in time to hear the ear-shattering crackle of wood and see the doorframe splinter, as the door swung open, banging loudly against the plaster wall.

"What in the _fuck_ are you doing in here?" Dave asked in visible hostility as he beheld his wife; soaking wet and apparently terrified, standing in the middle of an overflowing river of bubbles.

His face was contorted in anger and confusion, his shoulders and chest heaving with his explosive exertion and Nancy would have been a fool if she didn't admit that she was thoroughly frightened by the sight of him. She too, was breathing heavily and shaking from the chill, but she managed to keep her wits about her and turned around calmly, twisting the knob to cease the water and then gracefully pressing the switch to halt the jets.

The frosty silence was deafening as he watched her, timid and embarrassed, still standing in the tub with her wet curls adorned by a pile of bubbles that sat like a crown on top of her head. A muscle jumped in his jaw, a dark and dangerous cast to his gaze as it swept from the lava-like puddle of foam on the stone floor, to the steady drip of the water down the tub's side, all the way to the sodden, soft velvet pants hugging her hips and the soaked tank-top that molded to her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath. "I would _really_ like to know what the hell you're doing."

The calm, yet livid nuance in his tone sent a shiver of fear coursing through her belly. "I was trying to run your bath." She began, her voice a miserable, weak whisper. "The bubbles fell in—I knocked them over when I turned on the jets a-and I was trying to fix them when _I_ fell in."

He huffed slightly, letting out a sigh that couldn't dispel his anger over being locked out of the bathroom and having foolishly given reign to his temper, making the impulse decision to kick the door in. "All I want is a bath and a bed." Dave said in a voice so calm and firm it chilled her. "And the only thing hindering me from that—is _you_."

Nancy lifted her chin with dignity, despite looking like a drowned rat with a hat of bubbles and stepped over the side of the tub. The water dripped from her body, hitting the floor with soft splatters, but in the silence, they may as well have been gunshots. "I'll just clean this up and run you another—"

"Don't bother." He said abruptly, stepping further into the room, holding up one hand as if to block the whole incident from his memory.

"The floor's soaked." She stated the obvious and gestured with her empty hand. "Let me get some towels and I can at least dry it before you—"

"Nancy!" He fairly roared as his vexation over the entire situation boiled over. "Could you _please_, just get out and leave me in peace? It's fine—it's all fine! Just—go."

His rudeness sparked a flash of anger in her and Nancy glowered, her green eyes sparkling like hot emeralds. "It was just an accident…you didn't have to go kick the door in like an overgrown—"

"_You_ shouldn't have locked it in the first place!" He barked, pointing a long finger in her direction and matching her glare.

"I tried to tell you that I didn't mean to lock you out." She defended, planting her hands on her hips. "Every time things don't go your way, you get all loud and scary." She gestured with her hands out beside her face mimicking claws.

The sight of her attempting to describe his behavior only irritated him further and even if she'd been joking, which he was sure she wasn't, he wouldn't have shared her levity. He opened his mouth to give her another dose of his 'loud and scary' persona, but before he could form an intelligible response, the sound of Nate's desperate crying could be heard from far down the hall.

"Great…" Nancy huffed. "I hope you're happy, you succeeded in waking your son up with your temper tantrum!" She stormed past him so quickly, sweeping a dry towel off of the bench without breaking stride; he was surprised she didn't slip in the puddle.

Dave frowned angrily, thinking that he heard her mumble a few very unladylike curses in her angry retreat. Had the door not been hanging awkwardly from its hinges, useless for any future attempts to close, he might have had the temerity to slam it behind her. Instead he ground out a noise befitting his exhaustion and removed his clothing as quickly as he could, taking care for the aching arm. Dave tossed one towel down on the floor over the lake of bubbles and then plunked his massive body down into the tub, cursing when his size sent another wave of water cascading over the side of the already full tub.

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"This is exactly what I was looking for." Sullivan said to himself and let the luxury of a smile of satisfaction envelope him in warmth. Barren would be dead inside of two days time. He held a copy of Randy Orton's utility bill from the _Seattle Department of Water and Power_, in his hands, running his thumb over the blackened text. Nothing more than ordinary. It showed that he had paid the bill on time; that he'd paid one-hundred eighty-three dollars and sixty-six cents for the services. It detailed one other _very_ important piece of information. An address—a physical address, not some mailing address for a subscription, or a former address where he lived with his Mommy and Daddy. This was irrevocable proof that he did in fact exist and was in residence in Seattle.

That paper bill however important wasn't the only thing that had Sully smiling. And as he slid the bill onto the table in his hotel room, his eyes landed on the lease for an historical home in Seattle's historical district. He'd come across the lease when his new secretary, who had by some clever sort of manipulation, managed to wrangle that document from the owner of the home. The owner of the rental also happened to be the chairman of the board for Historical Preservation in the Seattle area and was more than happy to garner any sort of exposure for his cause. Sullivan supposed that the nice rack that his secretary possessed must have had something to do with it, too. He made a mental note to reward her appropriately later.

His Secretary had also somehow managed to find out that though no other name was penned on the lease, Randy Orton _had_ come with a woman in search of the rental and according to the owner, had been accompanied by the woman when he paid his second month's rent. So now all Sullivan had to do was make the trip to Nixa Missouri and give Evan one last opportunity to get rid of Lynn Orton. If Evan succeeded, Sully would trust him again and use him in the apprehension of Barren. If not, he would kill Lynn himself, along with Evan and then take care of the situation with Barren on his own.

Before he was able to finish packing his bags, the cell phone rattled against the laminate top of the table, alerting him to call. He lifted the phone to survey the number and then opened the receiver.

"Hello." Sully's voice was distracted as he resumed his packing.

"I had a visitor today."

Sullivan recognized the tense and furious voice to be McCaughey's. He stopped cold. "Did you?" he said almost hesitantly.

"You assured me that the situation with Duncan O'Neal was taken care of." McCaughey hissed. "Am I right in assuming you lied?"

"No, Sir." Sullivan raked a hand across the back of his neck. "You wouldn't be right to assume that, because it's been handled."

"Then why did I have a private detective storm into my office this morning, posing as a reporter and asking questions about where Duncan could be found?"

Sullivan frowned. He wasn't certain who could have hired the detective, unless possibly it had been Barren's attempt to divert the heat from herself to her dead brother. "I-I don't have a clue." He stammered.

"I don't think I have to remind you of what is at stake here." McCaughey said calmly. "Have you found her?"

"That would be a _'no'_ on both counts." Sullivan responded nervously. "But I know where she is and I have a flight headed out." He lied, knowing that he'd not yet booked the flight, because he'd only moments ago gotten wind of her whereabouts and because he still had to make sure the loose end, by the name of _'Lynn Orton'_ was tied up first.

"Be done with it, Sully." He said succinctly. "This can only present a huge problem if it's not handled with care." The line went dead before Sullivan could respond with an aptly spoken concurrence.

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Vanessa watched timidly as her father passed her in the hall with little more than a nod; bounded angrily down the stairwell and fled with blanket and pillow in hand for the sanctuary of Nancy's studio. He was in much the same state as Nancy had been little more than ten minutes prior when she'd stomped, soaking wet down the hall into Nathan's room, quickly murmuring soft words of comfort to the wailing boy. Originally after hearing the loud ram against the master bathroom door followed by the rupture of wood on wood, Vanessa had thought someone might be hurt. But once she had stepped inside the door of the Master bedroom and heard the raised angry voices, she had ducked back out into the hall, wondering if she should go get Nate to halt his crying, or wait until the odd and out-of-place argument passed.

It didn't take long, before her stepmother emerged and so Vanessa knew she might be better off retreating to her bedroom, where Audrey was already sitting in wide-eyed confusion. Today was their last day of visitation at their father's for another week, but Vanessa knew after the argument that she didn't want to be far away should they decide out of some peculiar notion, to strangle one another. So she'd phoned her mother and asked that even though they had to leave in an hour, that they be allowed to return the following day after school. Angie who had never been reluctant to let them go agreed, though she hadn't been told the true reason for Vanessa's desire to go back.

Vanessa helped Audrey gather her belongings, placing them by the bedroom door and the two waited in melancholy silence, each one sitting at the end of her own bed. Hopefully when they returned in a day the door would be fixed and the fight would be fixed. Just maybe it wouldn't still be hanging there on its hinges, broken and battered, just like the rest of their lives were turning out to be.

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	32. Chapter 31

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 31

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot.

**D. H. Lawrence**  
_English novelist (1885 - 1930)_

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"So as soon as I reach him, I'll make sure he isn't opposed to us coming and then we'll book the flights. I can possibly set up dinner at the hotel to start out with." Lynn said fingering the hem of her sleeve. "It's probably less imposing than asking to stay at his place, especially since we haven't gotten along all that well in recent years."

"Well, it's _that_…" Evan began, donning his jacket. "But also, it's because you know you don't want to be forced to be completely silent when I make love to you. It would be difficult to enjoy it fully in your brother's house." His hand ran up the line of her spine, curling around the back of her neck. "And I don't want anything to get in the way of that."

Lynn couldn't see the crimson blush, but she felt it as it seeped across the skin of her neck and chest. "We can fly out tomorrow if we have to." She said, inhaling deeply when she caught a whiff of the sweet, musky scent of his cologne. "Then maybe after a day of visiting and after you and Randy settle up on the terms of the ring, we can fly back and you can come for dinner or the weekend at my parent's house."

"You can teach me how to ride one of those horses." Evan suggested.

"How did you know we have horses?" Lynn said with a quizzical smile.

"You told me." Evan recovered, remembering that he must be careful. He'd seen the horses the very first time he'd been to her father's ranch looking for information on how to find Randy; the day he had almost been forced to kill her mother.

"No I didn't." Lynn grinned, cocking her head to the side. "We've never really discussed my family's ranch.

Evan glanced down on her, running the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "Well then it was probably Randy." He said trying to conceal his error. "Come to think of it, I'm sure it was him, because he did discuss some of his family's heritage with me when he came in to purchase the ring."

Lynn nodded, wondering why she felt a sudden sense of discomfort. "I'm surprised. He usually only talks about himself."

Evan chuckled easily and the sound of it was a warm caress on her flesh. "He also mentioned something about your Dad having a fondness for taxidermy'd animals."

"A bear." Lynn said, laughing. "He does have this hideously _huge_ grizzly in his study that he and Julio killed once on a hunting trip. It creeps me out to be in there with that thing."

"I can just imagine." Evan said, with more truth in the statement than he cared to admit. He could do more than imagine, because he'd been standing next to the damned thing for more than an hour the morning he'd been there unbeknownst to Lynn's parents.

His cell phone trilled and it drew his attention to the display. It was Sullivan. Evan could not risk blowing his cover by taking the call in front of Lynn, so he lied. "Oh, hell."

"What?" Lynn asked softly, her fingers playing on the leather lapels of his jacket as she gently straightened them.

"I forgot." He said. "I have a client at the shop…a private mounting I was supposed to do."

She grinned wickedly, unable to resist the double entendre. "I can give you a much more enjoyable 'private mounting' if you'll stay."

His stomach clenched in fond reaction to her offer and he knew that there was nothing more in life he wanted to do than to take her upstairs and resume the fornication that they had been embroiled in earlier. But Sullivan would not wait for him and Evan had the slightest inkling that the call would not be pleasant. He wrapped his hands around her waist and pressed his lips to her forehead. "We'll both end up penniless and homeless if we don't aspire to do more than spend our days trying to reenact every facet of the Kama Sutra."

She closed her eyes and grinned, knowing he was right. "We won't be homeless." Lynn teased. "We can just move in with my brother."

A hearty laugh burst forth from Evan's mouth. "I think not." He kissed her firmly on the lips and then pulled away from her embrace. "I won't be back until after eight."

Lynn nodded, understanding that he could no longer neglect his duties at his jewelry store. She too, was sadly absent from the floral shop that she owned. Her employees were probably swinging from the rafters with joy, since she'd called in sick, nearly everyday for more than a week. It was time to go back and make certain that things were running properly before she left for their visit with Randy.

She watched Evan depart and after closing the door behind him, she crossed the living room of her loft headed for the phone to make the necessary call to her baby brother.

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He really should apologize; at least he thought he ought to, but then, how exactly did one apologize for making the highly irrational, spur-of-the-moment decision to smash a locked bathroom door in with his foot? His mother would have insisted he apologize right away, but then if his mother had been there he surely wouldn't have kicked the door down in the first place.

It wasn't just the fact the door had been locked that had evoked his brooding wrath. He'd encountered a locked door before and never had such an explosion of anger and it also certainly wasn't the fact that he was irritated at her for stalling and preventing him from getting the bath he wanted, that had prompted him to kick the door in. If he thought hard enough he could easily confess that it had been the culmination of all of her flimsy excuses and mystery, timidity and stand-offishness up to that very moment.

She'd locked him out of the rest of her life, up to that point, with the exception of the few times when she seemed as if she truly wanted to share herself with him and then she'd suddenly clam up again and hold herself back from the progress he'd thought they'd made. And _that_ was why he was so highly agitated over the locked door. It was as if the impassable lock had in some way, symbolized her feelings toward him.

Dave Batista, pulled the lower hinge pin from the hinges, laying it aside and then he hefted the door as quietly as possible and leaned it against the wall in the master bedroom. It was useless, the door anyway. He would buy another, install it and make an honest attempt to leash his temper, should she decide to lock him out again, though he was pretty sure she wouldn't because he knew that he'd only succeeded in frightening her. He remembered the look on her face, the way she couldn't hide the shock upon seeing the door fly inward, sending lock components hurtling through the air and causing the wood in the frame to crackle and splinter. But also, he could recall the way her eyes flashed with their own form of anger when she'd finally mustered the bravery to stand up to his childish outburst. It made him smile, because yet again, it was just another example of how a little part of her true self came twinkling through the shadow of the unknown.

He picked up a few stray pieces of wood from the travertine floor and tossed them in the trash, preparing to go downstairs. He'd slept a mere two hours in the loft of his wife's studio and that amount of time, though short-lived, had been the tonic that set his spirits aright and revived his physical body. And considering that the full two hours, happened to be uninterrupted by worry over his tiny son, who he knew was in good hands, it had actually felt more like a full ten.

He ducked into Nathan's room on his way down and towered over the crib, where the boy lay on his back with his hands up beside his head, fingers curled into relaxed fists. Peacefully breathing, his stomach rising each time he did so; eyes closed with no worry whatsoever, no true knowledge that his father was as big a baby as he. Dave didn't disturb him with kisses or words, not having recalled his last exact feeding time and therefore reluctant to wake him. He merely touched one silken curl and then exited the silent nursery, noting that the light on the monitor blinked in succession, telling him that it was on and that his wife surely had the receiver within earshot, if not clipped onto her hip.

She was in the kitchen, washing the dishes by hand that meant he must've forgotten to buy soap for the dishwasher. The task wasn't done in haste and she wasn't slamming dishes into the rinse water as any other irritated spouse might've. Rather, she was taking the time to perform the task with a degree of care and slowness that told him she might have her true thoughts elsewhere. As he guessed, the monitor was on the countertop within arms reach, its own light blinking, indicating that the boy couldn't make a mere peep or even a breathing change that his mother wouldn't hear.

When Nancy stepped aside to rinse and dry the full sink-load of dishes, Dave took the place in front of the full sink of dirty dishes that she'd just loaded. The two remained silent, as he sank his hands into the soapy water, finding a dish and the cloth, making an attempt to be helpful. Mostly, it was an excuse to be close enough to attempt an adequate apology. Without eloquent words, or viable reasons for his behavior, he spoke.

"I pulled the door off." He slid the cloth over the plate in his hand. "I'll have another brought out tomorrow afternoon."

Nancy nodded. Her glance was a scant sideways look that bore no hint of anger. Her acknowledgement of his statement was only a slight murmur accompanying the nod.

"And, I have no plans of kicking anymore doors in, not anytime soon anyway." He noticed that she smiled and the tiniest huff of a laugh escaped her lips, though there was no sarcasm in it. He wished that she would say something, rather than just gifting him with her silence and though he felt no threat…the silence bothered him just the same.

"I hope you know that I'm sorry for losing my temper." He ventured. "I won't do something like that again."

Nancy nodded, once more; as she lifted the dish she'd just dried and slid it into its place in the cabinet with all of the others. "If you think I'm going to say that it was okay for you to kick the door in; that it was _my_ fault…then you're wrong." The tiniest smile made its way to her lips. "I agree wholeheartedly with you, that it was a childish thing for you to do…big baby."

Dave almost laughed and couldn't suppress his own grin. Her unorthodox forgiveness made what he was about to say, all the more difficult. His nap in the studio had been uninterrupted, but upon waking he'd been confronted with a problem that he'd up until now, refused to believe could happen. Max had explained to him the disturbing reality that Nancy's amnesia was threatening the future of their partnership. Several vendors, who had been expecting new designs for their summer fashion lines, had pulled their commitments right out from under her. They'd explained to Max that at a later date, when things were back to normal, they'd recommit to purchasing the designs that his wife was so talented in conceiving. But since all of the designs came from _her_ head and not Max's, there was little that could be done, other than to finish up the commitments for which they'd already supplied prototypes and then to wait…for however long, he could not say.

Now he was faced with the task of telling her and that was something he knew could solidify for her, the failure that she already felt. "I saw Max today." He knew no easy way to begin.

"He hasn't been around much." Nancy observed. "Was he before?"

"All the time."

"Everything alright?" She asked, lifted another dish from the rinse water.

The pause that ensued was as uncomfortable as any he'd ever experienced maybe even more so because she sensed it and turned to face him. "Well," He began. "I think it will be."

"But you're not sure." She prompted softly.

Did she have to look so nervous? "No, I-I'm _sure_ it will be, I'm just not sure _when_ it will be."

She curled tense fingers around the damp dish-towel, nodding and chewing her lip.

Dave swallowed thickly before stating the truth of the matter. "Several vendors have pulled the plug on their commitments for your designs…" He gave up on trying to fit his large hand into the cup to scrub it clean, instead choosing a different dish. "It's a profit loss of about a hundred and twenty thousand dollars."

An atomic bomb dropped on the house could not have brought forth such a look of utter shock from Nancy, her lower jaw dropping as if it had come unhinged. She appeared as if she was prepared to say something, but then her mouth snapped shut, lips clamping tightly. She sighed heavily and then she spoke. "Is this going to obliterate our finances?"

"No." He said and smiled. "It just means that if you were planning on a wildly extravagant European Vacation, you might have to settle for Vegas instead."

"That's not funny." Nancy said quietly, defeated. "Why did they do that? Is it because I haven't been working?"

"Well…" He dunked the dish into her side of the sink. "All of the designs are ones you created. Max just deals with the public relations and helps sew the prototypes for presentation." Dave tried to make light of the situation and though he knew that their finances were not in danger, he also knew that the world of fashion was fickle and if his wife did not emerge from her fog soon, she would be left behind like dust from a footprint.

"And now I've failed us both." She stated, her voice a mere whisper, a soft admission of her ineptitude.

"No—"

"Yes I have." She countered gently. "If I could remember then we wouldn't be in this position, not in any degree." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "Not in any area of our lives."

"Nancy," Dave inserted. "You remembered Vanessa's dress, you're making some progress. Besides, your talent isn't determined by how well you can remember the designs you had planned." He placed another dish in the rinse water.

"Not remembering the designs is what landed us in this boat to begin with." She groused slightly. "I could tank this business for both of us…what if I can't remember those designs, the way I did with Vanessa's? What if the memory of her dress was just a stroke of luck?"

"You'll come up with new designs, even if you can't remember the old ones. You have a knack for that sort of thing." He assured her. "And then eventually you'll be back to normal."

"Normal…" Her smile was wry. "I just love the way you put that."

"I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"But you're right." She pointed out. "I'm sure everything was so much simpler before I lost my _mind_!"

"Memory." He corrected.

"Mind!" She snapped, huffing. "This is all so damned irritating…it just puts a hold on everything."

"You'll get it back." He said.

She spun to face him, stabbing him with a glare of disappointment mixed with anger. "And what if I don't? What if, by some random fluke of nature, I never remember anything that happened before that accident? I could be an utter failure for the rest of my life!" Her frustration was sputtered in a whisper.

He watched her. To anyone else, she might have appeared almost hopeless, but not to him because he knew her well. Her back was ramrod straight, her chin hitched up and her eyes burning hot. His wife didn't know it, but she was battle ready; and when she was in that state of mind, things got done.

"I won't say that the thought hadn't crossed my mind." Dave admitted.

"Well I'm glad thoughts are crossing someone's mind, because mine's a complete blank!" She almost lost her grip on the dish she was drying. 'I wish you would have told me before." She accused. "I could have done something. I-I could've gone in there and messed around with stuff and tried to remember those designs."

He nodded, but wouldn't admit that he was slightly irked by the fact that she'd pinned him with some of the blame. "I should have, but I didn't know until this morning. Besides, even though some of how you behave resembles how you used to be, a lot of the things you do are completely based out of your distrust for me. So you tell me what good it would have done."

Nancy's face immediately screwed into a scowl. "I don't distrust you." She muttered angrily, but she knew she still did…sometimes.

"Sure you don't." He mocked, laughing. "Once you return to your normal self, you'll realize how much time you wasted thinking I had an ulterior motive."

Her furious glower sent a white hot dart of desire through him. In her anger she was beautiful. Eyes bright, color flushing her face, curls spilling errantly over her shoulders. The towel was clutched tightly in one hand and that hand was pressed firmly on her hip…the hip that was encased in those pants that reminded him of how truly delectable she looked. By God, he almost forgot what the two of them had been saying to one another.

"Sometimes I can't even believe you have the guts to say the things you say!" She admitted keeping her voice firm, yet low. "So basically you insinuated that I'm wasting time, because I'm not behaving like I used to, _before_. Which, I'll remind you is not my fault, by the way."

"Something like that." He said.

"Would you be happy if I did something that I used to do?' She asked tartly, giving him a blank stare.

He had the slightest desire to kiss her just to shut her up; instead he decided to banter with her. "Well, it would be nice."

Her frustration with him, with the situation at hand, simmered to the surface and she could not longer contain it. Nancy's jaws clenched in anger as she wound up the damp dishtowel, unable to keep her actions in check, she drew back and popped Dave soundly on the thigh. The sudden audible crack of the towel meeting with flesh, startled the both of them, but it was the swift appearance of the red welt where the towel had met with his muscular quad that had him wide-eyed and suddenly reacting.

Dave Batista couldn't remember a time when she'd done such a thing, propelled by her fury. And he damned sure couldn't remember a time when he'd been so turned on by a woman's act of mild violence. The towel pop hadn't hurt, _much_…but still it had been a surprise, but more surprising yet was the challenging glare flickering in her green eyes, the forceful attempt at intimidation in her stance and the sheer petulance of her words.

"Lemme guess," Nancy said sarcastically, her own surprise over her action quickly concealed behind a smirk. "That was yet another thing I never used to do, wasn't it?"

She waited for his answer hiding the trembling that she felt when thinking of how much larger he was than she. The air was distinctly charged and heavy and Nancy could see the sudden roll of his shoulders, the muscles tensing. He could probably crush her if he gave it miniscule effort. The question was; would he?

"No Ma,am." He began. His voice was firm and as serious as she'd ever heard it. His face was unyielding and fearsome. "It was not."

Before she could react, before he could gain the restraint to hold back, his hand lashed out and clamped onto the fabric of her shirt, between her breasts. Dave Batista hauled his wife forward with measurable force pulling her to within a hairsbreadth of him, ignoring her slight gasp of surprise. He never let go of her shirt as his other hand gripped the hair at the back of her head so she couldn't run and then he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her forcefully.

Any cries of protest from her were lost in his mouth as he kissed her. And yes, she did resist, much as he knew she would, her arms tightening between their bodies, trying to push him away. But the resistance was short-lived, as her lips yielded beneath his. Just as she thought that she might not be able to breathe if he held her there any longer, he wrenched his mouth away from hers and released her, pushing her back.

He smirked roguishly when he beheld her livid expression, shoulder raised as if she might be intent on slapping him, eyes flashing and her lips plump and bruised, gleaming with moisture from his kiss.

"I can't believe you just—" She sputtered, touching her fingertips to her lips, still in shock.

"Go ahead…" He challenged, darkly, cutting her off. "Hit me with that towel again and I'll show you what else I'd like to do to you."

Nancy was furious, confused and trembling with what she knew for certain was complete and utter lust for the man in front of her. And yet at the same time she had the uncontrollable urge to slap him. To her dismay she also wished he'd grab her and kiss her again. Just the same, he still didn't have any right to do what he chose with anyone or anything he pleased, when his anger struck.

Her eyes narrowed, lips clamped into a thin line of resentment as she addressed him, matching his heated gaze. "You're not lucky enough to get another chance like that." She hissed, balling the towel up and tossing it with force into the center of his chest. The towel bounced off of his chest and fell harmlessly to the floor, but their eyes never left one another. It was as if, for the moment, that the two were connected by a silver-hot cord.

Nancy finally huffed her disgust and spinning on her heel, she left him standing alone in the kitchen, without so much as another word.

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Max finished off the last of the steak on his plate as he sat at the elegant table in the restaurant in the downtown district. He was pondering the lack of information from the detective he'd hired. No calls in the last twenty-four hours had him worried. Even if LittleJohn had come up with nothing in his research of Duncan O'Neal, he would have called to tell Max so.

Tugging his phone from the case, he dialed the man's number to no avail. Max decided against leaving a voicemail message, snapping the phone shut in irritation. Even though he was only mildly agitated by the lack of information from LittleJohn, conversely he was wracked with guilt over being forced to tell Dave Batista about the Vendors who had backed out of their summer fashion-line commitments. The only clients that remained steadfast in their faith of Nancy's imminent recovery, were Stephanie McMahon and her _'Billion Dollar Princess'_ line of clothing, Marilyn Miglin and her _'Cutting Edge'_ line for teens, as well as three other large vendors who supplied the clothing lines for daytime television.

The loss of clients and potential monetary profit, though substantial was not devastating. Independently wealthy from childhood, Max Hadaway was in no danger of being forced to live under a park bench. The money didn't bother him, because he never considered money to be the most important thing in life. Having to go behind Nancy's back and tell her husband about the inter-workings of their business was what bothered him. Betrayal is what it seemed like to Max and even Dave's amicable reassurance that everything would be fine did little to convince him that it could be so.

He knew that Dave Batista would share the situation with Nancy and he knew that Dave would try to soften the blow even though he wouldn't sugarcoat it. His biggest fear was that Nancy would truly consider it a betrayal and thus, the whole incident would further expand the chasm that had already separated Max and Nancy's friendship. He wished he had the talent for design that his best friend did, then he could cover for her until she was back in her right mind. Hell he even wished she had designed some prototypes before her accident and hidden them somewhere. She had always had a knack for getting things done way ahead of time, so it might be entirely possible that she had done so, and if she had, then Max could whip up the samples and overnight them to the capricious vendors.

He tossed a large bill on the table and tugged his bright yellow parka over his shoulders. Max almost laughed when a woman at the next table lifted an eyebrow in disgust at the brightly colored parka. She looked at him as though he was as out of place in that jacket, in the five star restaurant, as she might be warming her hands over a burning trashcan in the middle of the ghetto. Never one to tout his financial status, Max had always tried to be down-to-earth, but something about the woman's unspoken disapproval sparked a flash of anger in him. Just like Barren, the woman had just as clearly labeled him unworthy.

"My Lord, that's beyond garish." He heard the woman mutter under her breath, just the same as if she'd been holding a megaphone to her lips.

Reaching out, he tugged the arm of the waiter as he passed. "Sir," He said, pulling five crisp bills from his wallet. "Please send the couple at that table a bottle of your most expensive wine and tell the lady it came from the man in the _garish_ yellow parka."

The waiter, who seemed confused, nodded as he palmed the bills. "Certainly Mr. Hadaway, but are you sure you don't want to put it on your tab?"

"Tell you what." Max said, patting the waiter on the back. "Put the wine on my tab and keep the cash as your tip."

The young waiter, who Max happened to know was peddling plates in this restaurant to pay his way through college, nearly choked on his own surprise. "Oh, Sir…you don't have to—"

"I know." Max told him, sincerely. "But I want to. Thanks for your help." Max shook the young man's hand and tipped his head toward the woman who was still glaring in disgust at him. "Make sure she knows who sent it."

The red-faced waiter nodded, thanking Max enthusiastically and without waiting to see the aftermath, Max left the restaurant.

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"You were with _her_, weren't you?" Sullivan queried acerbically. "That's why you didn't answer my call."

"We were planning the trip to her brother's." Evan said, not bothering to answer concretely.

He heard Sullivan bark a laugh. "Oh, _you'll_ be making the trip." He said matter-of-factly. "You just won't be making it with _her_."

"Why is that?" Evan asked, though he was certain he already knew the answer.

"Because you are, or rather, _were_ supposed to have already gotten rid of her."

"I already told you, I wouldn't kill her." Evan stated calmly, feigning nonchalance, as he pulled the car onto the freeway.

"Again, I'll ask why." Sullivan nearly growled into the phone.

"Because dead bodies are hellishly hard to hide in the suburbs." Evan lied. "Not everyone has to be killed so you can reach your objective."

"She presents an obstacle, Evan." Sullivan began. "The only true reason you can't do it is because in the process of trying to charm her, you've fallen for her."

"You're an idiot." Evan muttered, but what Sullivan had said was true. He had fallen for Lynn Orton…hard. And the thought of having to lay hands on her and take her life was inconceivable, not when he wished nothing more than to be with her for the rest of his.

"She dies, Evan." Sullivan insisted. "By your hand or mine…the choice is yours. Just remember that I won't be as gentle as you might be prone. Keep that in mind."

"I already have a flight out for Seattle, one that she has no clue about. I'll take care of it before I leave." Evan conceded verbally, but even as he did, he knew that Sullivan would be coming for her; coming to make sure he had done the deed.

Evan knew as surely as he breathed that he had to get Lynn out of the line of fire as fast as he could, because Sullivan was true to his word. He would torture Lynn and kill her just to punish Evan for his weakness where she was concerned. The only problem he could see in removing Lynn from the situation would be her resistance to leaving so quickly and so unprepared. And though he knew he could possibly persuade her into a measure of apparent spontaneity, he was more inclined to hatch a plan to forcibly stifle her objections once she discovered that he had no intention whatsoever of taking her to her brother's.

Evan had to find a place where Lynn would be safe and Randy Orton's house would _not_ be that place. In twenty-four hours, Randy's house would be crawling with Irish assassins and Lynn would only be a target. He wheeled the car off the highway and into the parking-lot of a pharmacy. "I'll get it done." He said to Sullivan who remained on the line.

"I know you will." Sullivan affirmed with affected acquiescence and then he hung up.

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It was half past five when Randy received Lynn's call. He picked up the phone and answered with guarded enthusiasm.

"Lynn." He cradled the phone on his shoulder as he resumed the task of folding the laundry while Barren was in the shower. "Good to hear from you." At least he hoped it would be good.

"I know it's going to sound strange," Lynn said. "But I…was wondering, if it would be too awful, if I decided to come for a visit."

"Come where—come here?" In his surprise, Randy dropped the roll of socks he'd just been holding and they rolled beneath the bed.

"Well, yeah."

"You—um, you mean like a vacation?" Randy stuttered. "Like _here_ at the house?"

"No, I wouldn't—we wouldn't exactly need to stay with you, but I thought we could…what I meant was that we'd get our own hotel, but I would like see you."

"_We_?" Randy caught the plurality.

"I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Randy could hear the smile in her voice even though he could not see her face and in turn, it made him smile. "Does this someone happen to a _'boyfriend'_ type?" He couldn't resist a little good-natured teasing.

"Actually, it's someone you already know." Lynn told her brother. "It's your jeweler. I met him after Samantha returned the ring to the jewelry store."

She took a deep breath and launched into her explanation. "He came to my house to return the ring because he owes you a refund and we went to have coffee together. I originally thought he was coming to collect on a debt you owed or something, but Randy, he's amazing and I can't believe you didn't tell me about him sooner."

Randy's brow pleated in confusion. "My jeweler?" He asked in incredulous disbelief.

"Yes." Lynn confirmed. "He's _so_ wonderful, I haven't been this happy in as long as I can remember."

"That's not possible." He stated nervously, switching the phone from one ear to the other. "My jeweler Javon is _married_ and besides that, he's a 65 year old diamond artisan from Spain."

The color and blood drained from Lynn's face. "No, he—no, his name is Evan and he can't be a day over 35…"

"And I was never due a refund for the ring." Randy was hesitant to tell her the reason that he needed no refund, knowing that she would be hurt by it. "Lynn, the diamond in that ring was Grandma Orton's diamond and the setting was melted down from the platinum in a bracelet that I bought for myself with my first big payday from WWE. That man is lying to you."

"That's…not. That can't—" Lynn felt as if the spacious loft had suddenly shrunk to the size of a coat closet. It was hard for her to breathe and she sank down onto the edge of the sofa for fear her legs would give out, pressing her hand against her forehead.

"Lynn?" Randy said, suddenly fearful for the sister he had so long despised. "Lynn?" he asked again after her pause. "This man is not who he claims to be, Lynn. Whoever he is, it's probably a hoax to try to get to you. Who knows, he could even be a crazed fan of mine or something." He ran his hand angrily through his hair as he paced wracking his brain for a plausible explanation. "I think you should call the police and then go stay with Mom and Dad until things are resolved."

Her voice slipped out on a tearful whisper that tore at his heart. "Randy…he was looking for you." She admitted. "That's the only reason he was here…originally." Lynn left out the part about how he'd used her, the words he spoken, the special way he made love to her, the way he'd had her thoroughly convinced she meant something to him. She could never reveal those things, because to do so would make her look every bit the fool that she felt.

"Lynn, listen to me." Randy said trying to assess the danger of the situation. "Did you tell him where I am?"

"Not at first." She said almost choking on the sob she was trying to hold back. "But he knows now."

"Pack a bag and get to Mom's. Do you hear me?" Randy ordered firmly, somewhat surprised at how fatherly he sounded. "Don't stay there to confront him, just leave and do it now."

"Okay." Her voice mirrored her defeat; a sorrow so deep that it felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest and was now being dangled in front of her face.

"I'm serious, Lynn." He reiterated. "As soon as we hang up, you leave."

Her concurrence was a tearful murmur and she placed the phone back on the handset, numb and unable to do more than trudge to her bedroom in the back of the loft.

Randy, on the other hand, never pieced two and two together. Convinced that it was a crazed fan that had somehow targeted Samantha and then upon discovering she was useless as an ex-fiancé, had latched onto his big sister, he was satisfied that Lynn leaving would mean the end of things. But he could have no idea that it would not mean the end. He could have no _earthly_ idea that his big sister had no intention of leaving, but every intention of staying to give her two-cents to the man that had impersonated a friend and used and betrayed her.

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It wasn't late, wasn't even much past dinner time when Dave Batista finally decided he would make peace with his wife for the second time in 24 hours. She hadn't come down for food at all throughout the afternoon and with his daughters gone, he was left to fend for himself. Even Nathan, who couldn't fend for himself, had at least been in the company of his mother. Dave was the only lonely soul in the bunch and he was pretty sure it was his own fault.

Dave had earlier heard the wails, that signaled his son's hunger and they were soon followed by the soft motherly reassurances from Nancy, who he could hear clearly through the receiver that she'd left on the counter-top in her haste. He'd listened to those sounds, the only connection to the other two absent members of his household, throughout his entire lonely meal. It was a comfort to know that though his wife was apparently very irritated with him, that she wasn't taking it out on his son. He should know better; he should know that she wasn't that way, but hearing her hum and talk to the child as though she'd not been accosted in the kitchen, as though she'd not had a bathroom door kicked in on her, confirmed that she had no intention of correlating her treatment of their son to Dave's treatment of her.

He'd listened when she put the baby boy back to sleep and he'd heard her footsteps retreat from the nursery, but still he hadn't gone upstairs. Dave waited, determined to give them both time to calm down. He wasn't angry with her, though he knew that she was with him. He was, in fact, rather aroused. The taste of her lips and the feel of his hand clenched in the fabric between her breasts, as well as the silken feel of the curls that he'd latched onto to hold her in place, were still burned in his memory. And the adrenaline from the experienced, that earlier covered his physical pain, had subsided and now a dull throb had settled in his shoulder.

Unless he planned on sleeping in the loft of the studio forever, he had no choice but to face her again. And though the thought of her slapping him upon sight had crossed his cluttered mind, he knew that she wouldn't kick him out of the bed. For one, she probably was still too scared from his previous outbursts to run the risk of confrontation, but not only that, retaliation in that form had simply never been part of her nature. She might ignore him, she might keep to her side of the bed entirely, but she wouldn't banish him to alternate sleeping quarters.

Dave took the stairs, purposing a true apology this time, a genuine, verbal olive branch in the hopes that she would get over her anger and forgive him for being a brute; at least that's what he hoped for. He passed the darkened nursery, unable to resist the impulse to peek in on the boy, who was peacefully unaware of the rift that had formed between his parents. Dave ducked back out and reached the Master bedroom. The door was closed and he thought for a moment that she might have locked it out of spite, but when his hand twisted the wrought iron lever, it gave way easily and the door swung open without resistance.

Not the door, but what greeted him just beyond, was what gave him pause…and made his heart ache in remorse. The room was spotless, the bed was made perfectly, better than he could ever hope to make it, but Nancy wasn't sitting on it. She was at the foot of it, on the floor, cross-legged amidst a pile of photos and albums, including the one he'd showed her in the short days following her accident. Her eyes lifted and locked on his for a brief moment before they dropped once again to the photos, but she'd glanced at him long enough that there was no mistaking her tears.

"I was trying to remember something, _anything_…" Nancy whispered and her voice was a scratch. "But I can't."

A strange twitch in his jaw had him swallowing the lump in his throat, which he quickly attributed to dehydration. Normally he would have gone to her, asked her why she was sad, tried to fix things, but his feet wouldn't allow him the luxury of moving.

He watched as she lifted her eyes again unable to deny the slight quiver in her delicate chin.

"Nate was the very first thing I knew about myself when I woke up." She told him, her voice breaking as she swiped at a tear when it passed her trembling lips. "And I can't even remember how we made him. I should remember at least that, shouldn't I?"

It would have been easier to take on the entire SmackDown roster in a fist-fight than to battle the pain he saw pooling in her eyes. And as he stared at her, he felt her pain from afar, like a sword being jabbed through his middle. He wished that she could remember, because _he'd_ certainly never forgotten.

_…Coming home to an empty house after two weeks on the road, with less than two days to spend with his wife, Dave had been disappointed when he realized that she wasn't there to greet him. The vicious storm that had sheets of rain lashing against the windows of their home, didn't ease his worries either and so after a solid hour of pacing, attempting to call her cell phone numerous times and getting no answer, he was hell bent on going to find her. That was when he'd heard the key in the front door's deadbolt and been relieved, yet confused that she'd chosen to enter through that door instead of through the garage as they both normally did._

_He'd yanked the door open before she could get her key out of the lock and found his wife, laughing and soaked to the bone, on the porch like a transient looking for a home. Dave remembered wondering why in the world she would be laughing at her own predicament, because he'd certainly been worried as hell and wasn't sharing in her humor._

_"I was just about to go looking for you." He said, frowning and ushering her inside, out of the pelting rain. "Why didn't you come through the garage?" And then after a confused pause he asked. "Where's the truck?"_

_"I had a blowout about five blocks down." She laughed, her heavy breathing indicated her exertion. "I went for takeout and I was trying to beat you back here, but then I tried to hail a cab and instead he passed me and when he did he sent a wave of water from the puddle all over me and the food…the food is in the gutter—next to the truck." She was laughing almost uncontrollably. "So I got my phone out and I was going to call you, but my hands were wet and then the phone fell into the gutter too, it was light enough that it got washed into the drainage ditch…I decided to jog home instead of ruining the upholstery in the truck, even though I knew it wouldn't be a big deal…how was your trip?" _

_The fact that she was still laughing amazed him, when any other woman he knew would be throwing a fit over the circumstance. "You're okay?" He asked, pushing a mass of wet curls back over her shoulder. Her tresses splattered the wood floor with droplets of water._

_"I'm fine." She smiled, her laughter subsiding. She appeared to be surprised when he didn't insist that she remove the wet clothing before latching onto him for a hug._

_"I'm glad." His voice was soft, distracted, when he felt the cold of the water against his body. Dave remembered in great and vivid detail, how he'd kissed her and how warm her lips were in spite of the cold rain she'd just run through. A large hand on the wet backside of her jeans reminded him of just how firm, yet feminine her body was and he smiled against her lips when he felt himself harden. He wanted her in the worst way and couldn't care less about the takeout, the lost phone, the upholstery…he was just glad she was safe._

_He could most definitely remember how fiercely he'd kissed her, knowing that he'd be gone again in two days for almost a month. He recalled how he'd had the urge to shred the jeans she wore, when he discovered how the wet fabric was preventing him access to what he wanted. She'd managed to shimmy out of the wet clothing, but she'd not made it more than a step or two before being swept up onto his arms and hauled her into the kitchen, where he laid her on that blessed large island and made love to her…_

Yes, he certainly had no problem remembering the pleasurable event that resulted in his son. But now he looked at her again, her eyes were wide, almost as if she had guessed what he was thinking. Even then, he was sure she was fighting inside, warring to recollect what he already knew. "I wish I knew what it was like for you." He told her softly and he meant every word he spoke.

"I wouldn't wish that for you." She told him just as softly, lifting a photo and then with a pained expression she let if flutter back onto the top of the pile. "I get so close to remembering something and then it just slips away before I can grab it." Her tears hadn't abated, if anything they were increasing with every phrase. "There are so many good things here to remember…I should remember those shouldn't I? I should remember meeting you and spilling coffee on your girlfriend and marrying you and I should remember feeling the baby move inside of me for the first time. But I don't. Was I a bad person before? Am I being punished for something?"

The feet that wouldn't move previously, carried him fully into the room and he extended a muscular hand down grasping hers and gently pulling her to her feet. "No you're not being punished." He told her, enfolding her in his embrace. "And we both know that the only reason you don't remember those things is because of the accident. This won't be permanent, you'll get your memory back and then things will be fine." He wished he could believe what he was saying.

Nancy leaned her head against the solid wall of his chest. He was so warm…so large around her that he seemed to block out the world. Without thinking she wound her own arms around his tightly muscled middle and let out a breath. The action that was meant to be comforting for her suddenly heightened her sense of touch. Acutely aware of his hand as it traced smooth circles around her back, aware also was she of the beating of his heart beneath the muscles of his chest where her ear was pressed. She could have sworn that she had known how chiseled his back was, but until now she'd not realized how perfectly her hands felt against its warmth.

The silence only made his presence seem larger and she lifted her face to look at him. She wondered what was behind the depths of his eyes and was still pondering it when his hand came up to cup her cheek. No words were spoken for a long moment as the two simply stood there, her with her tears falling and him with the need to see them gone completely. He wouldn't be holding her if he didn't care, she reasoned…and he certainly wouldn't have stuck around this long dealing with her fickleness if he thought for one second that she did not love him.

"I must've loved you very much." She whispered, looking at the glimmer of compassion in his eyes and she didn't miss the way his hand ceased its movement on her back, as if he was shocked to hear the words, waiting for her to finish. "Sometimes I can feel it, even if I don't remember it. And those times when I feel it, I don't admit it, because it's so strong it scares me. Nothing that intense could ever be safe."

He whole heartedly agreed, because he'd felt the same way more times than he could possibly recall. He wondered if Nancy could possibly feel the spark of heat that flickered between them whenever they were close, because he never failed to feel it. Dave knew that there was no way to describe how his heartbeat sped up when he laid eyes on her, for the first time, after days on the road. And how was it that she couldn't feel the powerful tug of emotion that he did whenever he thought about all they'd come through? And why could she not know that the mere sight of any part her flesh drove him wild still? Was there any way to tell her that the silken sound of her laugh made him laugh, that he couldn't help but smile when he saw her smile?

She was right. None of it was safe, but love wasn't supposed to be safe. Love was a risk, an uncalculated gamble, a carefree toss of the dice. That's why it was so hard to find it when it was true and so easy to lose, if one wasn't careful. "And now?" He asked softly, his jaw strangely tight, fearful of the answer. "Do you feel it now?"

"I think I would remember if I could just experience it…If I could—" Her voice dropped off into a breath but her eyes searched him for some sort of confirmation. "I know it's there…" She finally said. "I just wish I could I could reach out and touch it."

"_I'm_ here." He assured her in a voice so low she thought she might have imagined it. He gently grasped her hand and placed it in the center of his chest, covering it with his own; solidifying his presence. Her other hand was slowly inching its way from his back to his side, where he felt her fingertips travel lightly over the ridges in the muscles there. His eyes never left hers even when she leaned into him, sliding both hands down and resting them on his hips.

"You told me our marriage was worth remembering." She reminded him gently, blinking back a tear. "I can't do this by myself…"

Dave Batista was sure his chest was about to explode, his breathing was increasing along with his heart rate and when she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his, he thought he might spontaneously combust. He couldn't move his hands, arms or legs…nothing on his anatomy, other than his lips, worked properly for a split second as his mind tried to process the knowledge that she had kissed him on her own, without any prompting or coercion from him. Once he was able to take action, he was stricken with the thought that she might be only teasing him, only using his vulnerability for her own comfort.

'_She'll run'_ a voice inside of him confirmed. _'The moment you try to touch her, she'll run, because she doesn't trust you.'_

He broke the kiss, his chest heaving, his head swimming. "Nancy, please—" he ran a thumb over her lip, yet he did not let go of her. "If you have no intention of finishing what we start…please don't do this to me. It's killing me…" he admitted, his expression almost pained as if he'd been truly injured. "If you intend to run when I touch you—"

"I can't do this without you." She whispered her expression mirroring his. "I want to remember." The veil she had been hiding behind for more than a month fell—She let go of it and it fell away as if it had never been.

Dave nodded, no doubt about the meaning of her words or the intent in her touch and his hand on her lower back was clenched tightly in the ivory satin of her top as he pulled her against him. His other hand was curled around the nape of her neck and his lips, fevered and hot played across hers as he pressed her to the front of his body. He might have been crushing her, but he didn't care, his only thought was for the moment they were sharing and where it might lead them.

Nancy ceased to breathe, her hands scrunched in the lapels of his shirt as he held her tightly. The soft stroke of his tongue on the inner edge of her lip sent a pulsating bolt of heat zipping through her body. This was familiar. She knew this. His hand beneath the hem of her shirt reminded her that there was much more to him than just his lips and she shivered when his fingers touched the spot next to her spine. Nancy was stepping on photographs as he led her backward until the back of her knees met the bench at the foot of the bed.

When he backed away she felt a pulse of danger emanating from the deep brown eyes that had taken on a ravenous intensity. But she wasn't afraid, not like before. Every muscle in his upper body seemed to ripple when he tugged his shirt off over his shoulders and let it fall to the floor amongst the pictures. His movements seemed almost predatory and yet they were so excruciatingly slow that she found herself agonizing over the wait. But before she could form an adequate protest, he was pulling her forward trapping her in his harsh gaze. Large hands ran over her shoulders, tipping her chin back upward when her gaze dropped. He shook his head. "Look at me."

She did. And when she felt the coolness of air on her belly and ribs, she made no move to prevent the removal of her clothing. Did she always tremble and feel dizzy when he was about to make love to her? Did her thoughts always fracture into a million shards of useless, incomprehensible, unspoken garble? His mouth was hot on her neck and she felt her nipples harden when his hands tickled their way up her ribs to cup her breasts.

Something resembling a whimper passed her lips and she grasped at the back of his neck the moment she felt his hands on her backside, urging her forward so she could feel his hardness against her belly. Did she have to ask him? Did she _ever_ ask him? Evidently not, for her feet were off of the ground before she realized that she'd actually been contemplating ordering him to continue.

Dave no longer held the fear that she would run and when her back finally met with the bedding, he was positive that this was something she wanted as badly as he did. Dave tugged away every last stitch of clothing that remained between them and then he took the time to breathe in deeply, and take in the sight of her, just the way he liked her best. There were no walls for her to hide behind, no bathrooms with locked doors, no towels covering her up and though he'd expected her to be suddenly shy, he was pleased when she didn't seem to be. In fact she appeared to be just as interested in reacquainting herself with the sight of him, as he was with her.

He pressed his lips against hers, then her neck in the hollow where her pulse was rapid and uncontrolled. He found the spot between her breasts, where his tongue had always played a path and she gasped when his hand met with her thigh. Lower went his lips until they met with her navel and the flat expanse of her skin, where there was no longer even the slightest trace of the child she carried.

And that hipbone, right above her thigh, the place where she was so sensitive, he'd kissed here there too and laughed softly when she sucked in a swift breath. But it was when his tongue darted out and met with the flesh of her inner thigh that he finally got what he'd been waiting for. Complete submission. It was as if she had instantly melted for him.

Nancy could have resisted, but the thought never entered her mind, not when her legs parted on their own and unquestionably not when his mouth met with the most sensitive part of her body. She practically bucked, at the very first touch of his tongue there and she thought she might bite through her own lip when his strong arms tugged her legs over his shoulders pinning her to the spot. If her hands had ripped the sheets beneath her, to shreds, she wouldn't have been surprised. Her back arched sharply when the building wave crashed over her and she heard a noise in her ears…it was her own ragged moan, mixed with her blood rushing through her veins. But still it wasn't enough it was fantastic, but it wasn't enough. She shuddered with the force of it and knew without a doubt that she'd experienced every aspect of this before.

Nancy's eyes opened in time to see him poised above her. He was watching, just watching her…reveling in the aftermath of what he'd created for her.

He pushed a curl away from her forehead and before she could completely recover, he positioned himself in the cradle of her pelvis. Dave clenched his teeth as he thrust once deeply, a groan escaping his lips.

The act brought forth a near purr from her and she sucked in a deep breath when her body reacted with a rush of liquid warmth. She was responsive, holding his biceps, curling her fingers around them as her hips rose with his thrusts, silently urging him. More than anything, she was amazed that she'd waited so long to let herself experience something she'd suspected could be this wonderful. And it was wonderful, every movement he made, each time he kissed her, each time he touched her flesh. It was a burning, pulsating, hot and sweet sensation that wrenched away her doubt and fear, replacing it with the complete knowledge and sense that she did, in fact, love him.

It didn't take long for the climax to mount furiously within her again and he felt it when she began to convulse around him. She was clinging to him when she broke, her lips were pressed against the flesh of his neck and her whimper vibrated against his skin. There was the sensation on nails pricking the flesh of his triceps, though his brain could not confirm it, there was the faint pressure of her thighs pressed against the sides of his body and a sound that he thought might have been his own, but that was all he knew when he finally found release. The physical, was only a part of it, because the real joy for him was the fact that she had given him complete trust. She could not remember her past, but she had willingly laid it down and left it behind for the prospect of a future.

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It was dark in the loft and Lynn sat on the sofa, rigidly perched on the edge of it with her head in her hands. Her brother had ordered her to run to her mother's house, to call the police and hide like a coward. But that wasn't Lynn. Sure, maybe it had been her way of things before Evan had thrust himself into the picture and convinced her that life was worth living, but it wasn't her way now.

She was an idiot for believing that someone so vibrant and full of life could possibly want to be more than a fling, for 'wall-paper plain Lynn Orton'. She should have remembered that people like her never meshed well with people like him. Lynn saw the headlights and knew that it was Evan pulling up to the curb. Soon after, she heard the scrape of a key in the lock; the key that she had given him so he didn't have to knock, so he could come and go freely. Hell, her own mother didn't even have a key to her loft, and that was another thing that made her feel outright foolish. Lynn had let sex become her undoing. She had let herself be seduced into stupidity and now she was positive that she deserved what she was getting.

The door opened and Evan stepped inside bringing with him a gust of chilling wind. 'How fitting' Lynn thought as she watched his silhouette, backlit by the streetlights. She knew every part of his physique, had caressed it, memorized it, and cherished it lovingly. And Evan had taken advantage of her integrity and made her a whore; his whore.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" Evan asked, snapping on the lamp, surprised when he saw her on the sofa. "Do you have a headache or something?"

Lynn stood to her feet with all of the dignity she could muster, breathing in deeply. Every word she had rehearsed fled her brain as if stolen by a thief and she simply remained silent, noticeably perturbed.

"Are you packed? We should get going." Evan said, a slow chill crept across the back of his neck when he assessed her icy composure. He dismissed it, assuming that she had been turned down for the visit by her brother and was irked at his refusal. Stepping forward, intent on embracing her, he was stymied when Lynn sidestepped him and placed her hands on her hips, glaring cooly at him. "What's wrong, Sweets?" He asked, standing in front of her.

No longer able to leash her wrath, she let him have it. The sound of her palm connecting with his face was as obscenely stark as a curse in a confessional and Evan's head reeled from the force of it. He should have known that it would hurt. No one with Lynn's obvious strength and moxie could have slapped him with ladylike decorum. Despite that fact that it was an open-handed blow, she hit him with all the force of a man and he was immensely grateful that she hadn't curled her fingers and punched him.

"You lied to me." Her voice was a low and chilling accusation.

Evan tasted the blood in the corner of his mouth. She had certainly split his lip, but he wouldn't hit her back. He couldn't hit her and he couldn't continue the charade. "Yes. At first I did." He admitted softly, noticing how her shoulders squared as if she might be prepared to brawl. He braced himself for another blow, but none came.

"You used me, to get to my brother." She further accused with no inflection, no indication of emotion, save for the slight flare of her nostrils and the fiery glint in her golden-hazel eyes. "You could have just stalked his fan-club president, instead of wasting you're effort on me."

"I lied to you about who I am, but not about how I feel." He was sincere, but he could see that she wasn't buying it.

Her laugh was wry and it had the effect of a sharp blade passing through his gullet. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Lynn." Evan offered.

She crossed her hands over her chest. "Yeah?" Her head cocked to one side as if she feigned belief in his admission. "Well, you did."

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this." Evan said, swallowing his frustration.

"It's never supposed to happen that way, Evan, but you got what you wanted, so you don't have any reason to try to save face anymore." Lynn's voice was so deadly calm, that if not for the tears threatening to spill forth, he might have believed that she didn't care…that she felt nothing for him.

"At first it was Randy I was looking for." He told her. "I didn't think that we would ever become involved, but I don't regret it. I told you I was in love with you and I meant that, Lynn."

She nodded, biting her lower lip to still its quivering. "Like I said, you got what you wanted. I'd like you to leave—and I don't want you to come back."

This wasn't how he wanted things to transpire. He was hoping she would be in the car and on the road with him, headed for a hiding place where she would be safe, but here she was standing her ground like the powerful woman she had no clue she was. Evan knew that Sullivan's plane had already landed at the airport and that he would be headed this way already. Evan had twenty minutes at best, to get her out of the loft and she was unknowingly spending that time unwisely, eating up the precious window of escape.

"I can't do that." He told her firmly. "Get your purse, we need to leave."

She glared at him with open hostility, shaking her head in disbelief. How could he possibly think that she was going to bend to his will when he'd already proved himself to be so very untrustworthy?

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Lynn stated concretely an incredulous chuckle escaping her lips. "And as far as I'm concerned, _you_ can go to hell."

"Dammit, Lynn…" He muttered angrily. "We don't have time for your stubbornness." He grabbed her handbag and thrust it toward her. "There's a man on his way here with every intention of hurting you."

"Oh really?" She said coyly, refusing the offer of her handbag. "Because I could have sworn the only man with intentions of hurting me was already standing in my living room."

He sighed, crestfallen because her words pelted him like bullets from a firing squad. "Lynn, please?" He laid the handbag on the coffee table and stepped forward, touching his palm softly to her cheek.

Her eyes closed at the contact of his hand, as if she were fighting with the impulse to submit. But then suddenly jolted back to the reality of his betrayal, she squared her jaw and slapped his hand away, lifting her other arm fully prepared to hit him squarely in the nose.

He caught the flying blow easily, grasping her wrist and spinning her around, pinning her body against his chest with her own arm. Evan held her there as she struggled and reached into his pocket for the hypodermic filled with a generic sedative, which he had obtain for the purpose of acquiring her, should she refuse as she was presently doing. He bit the plastic top off with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor and sank the needle into the flesh of her upper arm pressing the plunger on the syringe and then restraining her bucking, protesting body until she sagged in his arms.

Evan tilted her backward, pressing two fingers to her pulse point, assuring himself that she was still perfectly fine, though she would not waken again for another four hours or so. "I sure as hell wish you'd have come along the easy way." He said remorsefully as he brushed aside a golden section of hair and then he lifted her, tossing her over his shoulder, snatched up the handbag so Sullivan would not be able to track her by the address book he knew was neatly stashed inside. He kicked the syringe and its cap beneath the sofa on his way out so it couldn't be seen and because he didn't have time to put her down so he could stash it and then he left the loft.

He seat belted Lynn in the passenger seat of the rental and kissed her brow, dropping the handbag in her lap. Racing back into the house on last-second impulse he took the only thing he knew she cared about, the one thing he knew she would probably now shred when she got her hands on it and then he slid into the driver's seat and cranked up the engine. Turning to look at his sleeping passenger, Evan told her. "I only did this to keep you safe…and more than anything that's what I want."

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"They're both gone." Sullivan said to no one in particular as he fingered the glossy leaf of one of the many immaculate plants in Lynn Orton's loft. "I would like to think Evan's hauling a dead body in his trunk right now, but I'm more apt to believe he's hiding her."

"Sir, I believe you may be right." Robert O'Reilly held up an empty syringe and cap for Sullivan's inspection. "Unless she's a drug user, I think he may have sedated her. It is possible that he had mercy on her and killed her discreetly, easily."

Sullivan narrowed his eyes, and took the suspicious looking needle from Robert's grasp. "Where did you find this?"

"I saw a glimmer beneath the sofa and when I checked, that's what I discovered."

"Under the sofa…" Sullivan mused. "She's not a drug user, look at her loft. She's clean as a whistle, organized, successful from what we know of her. Besides, this is a fresh 'hypo'—druggies keep their needles, they don't often go buy new ones, because unless you're a diabetic, you need a 'script' to get them."

"You think she's diabetic?" Robert asked.

"She's too organized to leave a syringe lying around even if she was." Sullivan explained.

"Evan's not a drug user." Robert stated. "He's not diabetic, is he?"

"No, but his mother is." Sullivan said. "He has access to purchase supplies for her." He capped the needle and slid it into his pocket. "I don't think Evan killed Lynn at all. If he had, he'd have taken the time to make certain the needle couldn't be found by anyone who would report her missing. By sedating her, he's technically committed no crime and therefore had no real need to remove the needle…I think he wanted us to find it. I think he's planning on turning on us."

"Just because he wants the girl doesn't mean he's going to jeopardize the entire operation." Robert shook his head. He'd known Evan for a very long time and doubted that the man would put his desires above his duties to his mother country.

"Have you ever been in love, Robert?" Sully asked, heading for the door.

"No Sir."

"Love's a funny thing." Sully stated. "It can bring people and countries together in harmony and it can also rip alliances and brothers apart. Women are the only singular entities that can make a man destroy his own self and everyone around him."

"Then we should probably not expect him to be in Seattle?" Robert asked.

"On the contrary…" Sullivan said brightly. "We should definitely expect him in Seattle."

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The church was eerily quiet, just as one would think a church should be, especially at night. Aside from the candles at the altar, only a few dim lights in the entryway helped guide Evan into the sanctuary. Rows and rows of pews were obediently lined up, one in front of another, giving symmetry and order to the majestic cathedral. He walked the aisle with purposeful strides and Lynn tossed over his shoulder, until he reached a pew, only rows back from the front. He chose _that_ pew, because unlike his very godly and sweet mother, he had never felt comfortable in the front pew. And also because he knew Lynn would never have had the courage to sit in the front row and be noticed.

Maybe one day when he got his shit together, he and Lynn could sit in a pew together…maybe one day. Evan laid her gently on her back in the pew, satisfied that he'd chosen the church. Unlike a police station or a firehouse, where he would be questioned and suspected of rape or worse, when he left her, a church was a solitary place of safe refuge. Leaving her here served a dual purpose, since Sullivan would never think to look for her in a church. In fact, Evan was pretty sure that God would strike Sullivan with lightning on the porch steps as soon as he approached a cathedral.

A long heavy sigh fluttered through his lips as he made Lynn as comfortable as possible on the pew. "I didn't really have a back-up plan." He confessed to her sleeping form. "The only thing I knew was that I wanted you safe, so I could come back after all of this gets straightened out…and hopefully you'd be waiting for me."

He rolled his jacket up and tucked it under her head as a makeshift pillow. "I love you more than I thought I would ever love anything…and I was hoping I'd be around long enough to make you appreciate the things about yourself that you hate." He explained as he fished around in his pocket. "I love everything about you." He lifted her right hand and slid Samantha's ring on her finger, so she would awaken and know that he wasn't a thief and had no desire to keep the ring. In fact, if he thought about it, he would have to admit that Lynn was the only true thief between them…_she_ was the one who had stolen his heart.

Evan folded the red dress with care. He loved the way the dress had looked on her and it was the last thing he'd run back into her house to retrieve. Tucking it beneath her arm, he adjusted her again until he was satisfied that she wouldn't awaken with a cramp of any sort and then he propped her feet up on her handbag. "I'm so sorry." He told her, brushing her hair back away from her face. "I wish things were different."

He checked his watch, noting that he had to leave or he'd not make it to Randy's house in time to enact his plan. "I know you love your idiot brother, even though he's hell to live with." Evan laughed softly. "And for that reason _only_, I'll make sure that he stays alive." He promised and then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. It was painful for him, because he knew she couldn't feel it or respond, but he couldn't leave her without a last kiss.

"I'm coming back for you." He vowed, his voice breaking. "Once this is all settled, I'm _coming_ back. We can make this work, I'm sure of it."

He heard a rustling sound behind the altar and in his peripheral vision he could see a Sister emerging from the hall behind it. He kissed Lynn again. "I love you…Goddamn it, I love you."

Standing to his feet, Evan left the pew and made haste for the door, resolving in his heart that once he reached Seattle, he would unite with Sullivan long enough to get business back on track and then he would kill him. He would kill Sullivan and then he would eject himself from the reformist party altogether, because going completely straight was the only way he could ever be with Lynn Orton and because killing Sullivan was the only way he could prevent himself from being a target for the rest of his days.

"Sir?" he heard the woman say. "Excuse me, Sir." The Sister was hunched caringly over the pew where he'd left Lynn and her nervous gaze flickered from Lynn to Evan. "Sir, is this woman hurt?" She asked softly.

Remembering Lynn's accusations in the loft, of how he'd indeed hurt her, he ducked his head in shame for a brief moment and then he nodded. "She is, Sister…please watch over her."

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	33. Chapter 32

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 31

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

**_Disclaimer: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers._**

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

**_I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing._**

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"Stand in the rain, stand your ground;

Stand up when it's all crashing down.

Stand through the pain, you won't drown

And one day what's lost can be found…"

--SuperChick, _Stand In the Rain_

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"I didn't know you were awake." She whispered, stepping back into the Master bedroom after feeding the baby. "You're not tired?"

Dave Batista was sitting up, propped against the headboard almost as if waiting for her return. "No…revived." Was his gentle answer.

She smiled. "You don't have to get up every time I do." Nancy told him.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat as he watched her standing in the doorway. She pressed her back softly against the door to close it. He spoke. "I never did think it was fair for a mother to have to stay awake through every feeding when everyone else in the household sleeps." He felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her in one of his shirts, legs peeking out beneath the hem, her hair spilling rebelliously over one shoulder as she padded across the floor to the bench at the end of the bed, where she then stopped.

"Oh, it's fair…trust me." Nancy announced conspiratorially. "Especially when you take into account that he's a boy and it's _you_ who'll be left to explain to him all of the things regarding male adolescence."

He smiled watching her kneel on the bench as she crawled onto the end of the bed, unintentionally giving him a very tasty glimpse of her cleavage.

She observed the way his eyes riveted from her face to her body, his throat moving as he swallowed. He seemed to be nonchalant, awaiting her approach; carefree, his back resting against the headboard, with the covers inches below his navel, barely concealing his lower half. She could have pretended to be timid, but it was far too late for that. Last night, she had finally experienced a part of what had made their relationship so wonderful in the past and there was no sense in acting as if she didn't want to experience it again. The only thing Nancy could determine with any degree of certainty was that she had been a fool not to trust him and let her guard down long before last night…she had deprived them both of something that they needed and very much enjoyed. Nancy watched his eyes lift to observe her as she came closer, inching forward on her knees until she was finally beside him. But it was when she tugged the covers away from him and sat astride his body that she heard his breath catch in his throat.

He couldn't stop his hands from lifting to cup her hips, but he made no other move to persuade her to continue. He simply waited and watched with nearly insufferable restraint.

"It's three a.m." She softly informed him. "You should have tried to sleep."

"It wasn't possible." He answered.

"Was it not?"

"No." he shook his head, fully aware that her tone indicated she might be teasing him; more aware still, of her center radiating its heat above his manhood. He was hard instantaneously.

His face bore the distinct impression that he might be curious to see if she took the initiative to be in control of the situation and it left her wondering if she'd ever _taken_ control before. She felt his hardness, full and imposing against the juncture of her thighs and it instantly evoked a throb between her legs and a dizzy giddiness in the pit of her stomach. Nancy let her fingers glide up the muscled forearms amazed by every striation and noticed how his eyes seemed to follow her hands, as if he might be wishing to memorize the moment. Her fingers stopped upon his shoulders, where she let her thumbs gently graze his throat and she feathered her touch down his chest reveling in the dips and valleys of the muscles, all the way down to where he and she were nearly joined. His stomach tensed at her touch and she sensed that he was becoming the slightest bit impatient with her deliberate slowness. It brought a devilish smile to her face, seeing him staring down at her hands, where they had stopped just at the base of his abdomen.

Dave Batista was fairly close to begging. Unable to properly convey his wish for her to cease her apparent teasing, he also was curious to know if she _would_ take the lead. She had done so before, on occasion and he'd always found he liked it, but at this very moment, the aching throb in his loins made it nearly impossible to sit still and wait for her to make the first move. Her lower lip was caught temptingly between her teeth and on her face was etched an expression that hinted toward a devious line of thinking. She might be contemplating if she'd ever done such a thing. Finally her eyes locked on his and he felt her rise over him, felt her breasts brush against his chin through the fabric of the shirt she wore and then he felt her warm wetness against the very tip of his shaft as she remained momentarily poised above him. Her hands were curved around his shoulders and before his mind could imagine the agony of much more waiting, she slid down over his cock, a little moan escaping her lips and her eyes closing as if she wished to savor its feel.

His limbs instantly went limp, save for the hands which had unintentionally tightened their grip against her soft hips.

"Oh my God." The comment passed softly, brokenly over his lips when he felt the warmth of her over him and the tremble that went through her at their joining. She simply sat there for a moment, atop him, breathing in deeply and exhaling on a sigh.

His fingers had been biting into her flesh for several seconds now, as if his hands had a mind of their own and she gently reached around, removing his hands and pressing them against the mattress beside him in a silent order for them to remain. She heard him breathe in sharply when she finally rose up once more and his jaw clenched tightly. Coming down again, moving softly, slowly, she witnessed the rapid darkening of his irises as he enjoyed the feel of himself inside of her.

"This isn't something new for us, is it?" She inquired innocently, seductively, curling her palms around the back of his thick neck.

He shook his head, because he wasn't fully certain he could even string together a coherent response.

"No?" She asked, rising and then plunging back down over his turgid length again.

"No." He confirmed in a voice that was almost strangled, staring at her languid expression. "This is an old favorite."

She nearly purred when his disobedient hand rose from its position on the mattress to glide up her thigh, stopping between them, his thumb pressing against her sensitive nub.

"Maybe it can be a new favorite." She hissed softly, nearly losing her sense of rhythm when his thumb began to circle.

He reached out, clamping his free hand behind her neck, tugging her forward so he could kiss her. She rose and fell, clinging to him as his lips coaxed hers to part, as his tongue darted out softly chasing hers. And as his rebellious hand brought forth a soft whimper from her, he was positive he wouldn't last more than a minute. One hand tangled in the mass of curls, the other beneath her derriere, he lifted her effortlessly off of himself, rising and flipping her over on her stomach all in one fluid movement.

She didn't seem startled or offended when he parted her legs, swept his hand beneath her belly to lift her up and plunged inside of her from behind, with a near growl. Rather, she rocked her body backward into his when he began to draw himself back, indicating that she could still dictate the pace and the rules. He was dizzy, unable to comprehend sights and sounds other than her gasps at every hard thrust and her reflection in the dim light, staring back at him through the mirror on the dresser. He watched her reflection in enjoyment, when she rose up fully on her knees lacing her arms behind her, clutching at his neck. It was bliss to see the seductive smile on her face, the widened kneeling stance of her legs, his arm clamped like an iron band around her waist as he slid inside of her again and again, slowly…deliberately. But then the eroticism of seeing their reflections, only reminded him that she was still wearing the damned shirt and he found himself possessed of the sudden urge to remove it. And so he did. He ceased his stroke, though not removing himself and reached two large hands around the front of her body where the shirt was buttoned—and he tore it, sending buttons flying in all directions. He didn't care, his wife was a seamstress, she could fix it and if she didn't, he still wouldn't have cared.

A horrific, primal jolt of sexual heat tore through her body the moment she felt and witnessed the sudden barbaric and careless shredding of the fabric and she saw her own expression flicker from surprise to wicked satisfaction. If he was bent on tearing things up, this was the time and circumstance in which she more than happy to allow it. The overly large shirt fell from her shoulders, hooking in the curve of her elbows and she glanced back up to their reflections. His head bent to her neck and she felt and saw his lips as they traveled over and suckled the flesh there. His arms were cradling her body, steadying the both of them as he continued to glide in and out of her, but soon she felt his hands on her breasts, her ribs, one set of fingers gliding across her throat. He seemed to have an endless supply of ways in which he could make her tremble; make her feel as though her head were detached from her body, floating away along with her former cares.

Try though he might, he could not take his eyes off of the reflection, the mirror image of two people making peace with one another in the most agreeable way. He let his hand fall to cup her femininity and smiled, wickedly when she almost tipped forward, her eyes closing, her head drooping, as his touch drew a broken whimper from her lips. He reveled in the sight of her own hand as it ran the length of his arm to lay over the hand that was coaxing her to orgasm. He made the teasing move to pull his hand away, but she wouldn't allow it, grasping his fingers with her own, guiding him back to the spot.

"Don't—stop." She commanded in a trembling gasp.

"You've never been this bossy." He told her in a whisper.

Nancy, on the other hand, could respond with little more than a near sob when he slammed his cock into her, continuing the pleasant assault with his fingers. She felt her body begin to spiral; heat and light radiating from her core to her brain, filling every square inch of her body with trembling, liquid warmth. The throb that had begun long ago burst into a hot pulsating detonation that made her feel as if she were imploding and had he not been holding her tight she would have fallen forward.

He heard her cry out, heedless of any one who might have been able to hear. Her fingers were clamped to the forearm that held her tightly against the front of his body. She shuddered, the inside of her body convulsed drawing the orgasm from him and he fought to hold them both upright as his body was wracked with the blissful explosion. Slowly he leaned them both forward, laying his head between her shoulder blades, dragging in ragged breaths as she did the same.

Long moments afterward, he rolled over, tugging her against him. He noticed that his shoulder didn't seem to hurt any longer and the stress that had caused all of his muscles to remain tight had miraculously dissipated, taking the stiffness with it. He felt her head twist and she glanced over at him, her fingers running down his jaw.

"Have you remembered anything yet?" He asked with a soft laugh.

She grinned, sheepishly. "No—so maybe you should jog my memory again."

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Paranoia had never been one of Randy's habits, but after days of watching Barren as she stared over her shoulder, continuously checking her surroundings as if she thought someone might be there, he'd found himself doing much of the same. It was frustrating. He'd questioned her about her apparent skittishness, but she'd been rather tight-lipped.

He remembered how, after they'd first met, she'd shared with him the specifics of what had happened to her brother, what had happened to her just prior to the accident. Some of what she had told him was starting to make sense and even though he'd previously been inclined to believe she was exaggerating a tad, he was finding himself ever more tempted to believe that what she _had_ told him was true.

She seemed unable to enjoy the moment, whatever that _moment_ happened to be. She was distracted and jumpy, listless and worried. Barren wasn't herself and though Randy was determined to get to the bottom of it, she seemed just as determined to convince him that he should just let it go altogether. And considering the catastrophe that had occurred this morning, it had certainly sealed the deal with regards to that very necessary conversation.

Randy had brought a steaming cup of coffee into the bathroom intent on having his discussion with her. He could hear the shower spray as it pelted the cast-iron tub floor, confirming for him that she was in there, but never had he expected such a blast on the ticker, as the one he received when he peeked inside of the shower curtain. Having meant only to announce that he'd brought her the coffee, Randy dragged the edge of the curtain back and softly spoke her name. That was when Barren let loose with an ear-splitting scream, dropped the shampoo bottle, whirling around in shock only to discover it was only Randy. Whoever else she might have thought it to be, Randy couldn't say. The one thing he _could_ say for sure was that it had been a mistake for him to be holding the mug of hot coffee when she screamed, because when she hollered, it startled him and he jumped sending the searing hot beverage all over his wrists and down the front of his body.

"Jesus Christ!" Randy bellowed, tossing the remainder of the coffee into the sink and slamming the cup down onto the counter. His gentlemanly attempt to deliver Barren a hot beverage was stymied by yet another of her paranoid delusions. It was high time that Barren came clean about why she was so damned jumpy all of a sudden.

"Sorry…" Barren repented with a grimace, poking her soap covered head out through the curtain's edge. "I was just deep in thought and you scared me."

"I scared _you_?" Randy said in incredulous frustration. "_I'm_ the one covered in coffee!" He reached between her body and the curtain until his long fingers found the knob, at which point, he turned the water off and ripped back the curtain. "This is _way_ past paranoia, Barren. And we need to seriously have a talk, because this bullshit's driving me nuts."

He was rewarded with a sigh, as she turned the water back on so she could rinse the remainder of the soap from her hair. "Let me finish this and then we'll talk." She yanked the curtain shut again, blocking out the sight of his glowering visage.

Randy shook his head and scooped the empty coffee cup up from the counter-top grumbling an epithet as he stomped out of the bathroom and down the stairs. He felt like flinging the cup into a wall, but settled for placing it in the sink instead. He yanked the hand-towel off of the rack and began an attempt at removing the coffee spatters from his arm and pants and then tossed it angrily on top of the counter and walked out of the kitchen.

Moments later, Barren came downstairs, wrapped in a robe with her hair twisted atop her head. She noticed that Randy was seated on the sofa's edge with his chin resting upon his fists, elbows propped on his knees. He looked somewhat like a kid waiting to be given a punishment from his parents, or maybe he was merely contemplating how he should deal with her. Whatever the case was, he didn't look happy and upon closer inspection she could see that his expression bore the distinct facade of a man about to lose his cool.

"I'm sorry…" She apologized for the second time, positioning herself beside him on the sofa.

"Sorry for what?" He asked, his voice instantly accusing. "Contributing to my third degree burns? Or for the fact that you're all of a sudden so uncomfortable with me?"

"For the burns, mostly." Barren ventured a chuckle, but the attempt at humor fell flat. She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth as she stared into space recalculating her approach. "Randy, I'm not uncomfortable with you—"

"Then what is the real story? Why are you so scared lately?" His voice seemed sincerely concerned, though his expression did not match. "What are you hiding, Barren?"

Barren dipped her head. She was hiding a wealth of secrets and she felt almost as if she was standing in front of a mountain, arms held high, trying to prevent someone from seeing it. Barren was once again wracked with guilt, reminded that she had not been completely honest…not with him and not with the friends that she had come to cherish.

"I told you already." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"Bullshit." He muttered, disinclined to look at her, his face still propped on his fists. "You told me a few things, but I think there are _more_ than a few, that you conveniently left out."

"What the hell else am I supposed to tell you?" She said in a voice of desperation, holding her hands out to the sides. "My brother is dead; I got the shit kicked out of me, by the men who did it…" She glanced left to right as if the answer could be found in their surroundings. "I ran, I told you that already…and we met and fell in love."

"Sounds like a country song." Randy snapped, rudely.

Barren sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. "Randy—"

"Tell me more about this guy you ran from…" He glared at her, and then pointing one long finger at her, he gently, but firmly amended. "And not the bullshit story you told the sheriff to save my ass, I want the _truth_."

"Randy—"

"Don't lie to me." He repeated softly. "I couldn't handle it if you did."

Barren paused, lifting her face to the ceiling and then finally closed her eyes. There was no way that she could come completely clean, not at that very moment. She could not tell him that she had begun the charade with him solely to reclaim her key from his best friend's wife and then foolishly fallen for him. Barren could never admit to him the degree of danger to which she had exposed him and his friends. Owen was in Seattle, she was sure of that and if he was here and had found her, given his rudimentary resources…that meant that McCaughey's well-equipped army couldn't be far behind.

And yet as important as it was to have Randy well warned and aptly armed, Barren knew that she could never outright tell him that Owen was here…nor could she tell him about the others. Randy would hate her for hiding those details by way of omission. He would despise her for placing innocent people in danger as she had done with the Bautista's simply by her association with him. She certainly couldn't tell him that though she loved him more than she thought was possible, she could never stay with him. If she admitted that, he would want a reason and she couldn't give him the truth. And because she was close…so _very_ close to reclaiming the key, she had to continue the lie. The truth was not yet an option. She had to ride the storm out, no matter who got hurt in the process…all because of Duncan.

"I was pretty sure that I saw someone who was involved with Duncan's murder." Barren lied. "I actually thought I saw him more than once, but I think it might have been my mind playing tricks on me."

"You've been looking over your shoulder for more than a week, peeking through the mini-blinds, acting like you just got recruited by the CIA." Randy pointed out. "So, unless you have a raging, secret drug habit, then thinking you saw someone one time shouldn't have that effect."

"It was more than once." Her eyes darted upward and then back down again. "Once at the café, another time at the mall and then in traffic, too." She weaved only a small measure of truth through her explanation. It was accurate in some respects, though still not the full truth. Barren had seen Owen…three times. He had been involved in the murder, though not directly or maliciously.

He watched the way she nibbled the corner of her lip and toyed with the hem of the robe, unable to meet his eyes. "It's possible you're being followed?" He confirmed, rather than inquired.

She cleared her throat. "I _thought_ I was being followed, but then logic tells me that it's probably just fear making me think that I saw something I didn't see. They couldn't possibly have found me…I didn't leave a trail."

Barren was afraid. Randy could see it in her guarded expression; he could tell it in the thinly concealed panic in the tone of her voice. He found himself feeling guilty for having suspected her of something malevolent. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder why someone would kill her brother and not kill her right off the bat, to avoid the hassle, being as she certainly presented her own share of troubles. If all that he suspected to have comprised the situation rang true, then Barren had been kept alive for a specific reason and had merely been lucky enough to escape. There was a reason why she wasn't dead, a reason why she had never reported her brother's death to the authorities. He shuddered to think that she might in someway be culpable. But still his gut instinct told him that if she were heartless enough to be involved in something shady, her true nature would have already surfaced.

"Maybe we should go to the police." Randy finally suggested. "Not just about being followed…but maybe it's time for you to tell someone about your brother's murder."

Barren's pitiable expression was followed by a swift shake of her head, a lone tear cutting a path down her cheek and a wry laugh. "Do you actually think that the Congressman that Duncan worked for hasn't already swept the entire situation under the rug to keep from sullying his name? If we go traipsing into the police station to tattle on Duncan's behalf, then all it'll do is bring McCaughey's men out of hiding."

"McCaughey?" Randy asked. "That's the guy that was facing an indictment a few years back for misappropriation of government funds and he got off, right?" After seeing her smooth nod, he turned sideways reaching for her hands he clasped them in his own. "If you really believe that you're in some kind of danger…then we need to get help."

"We can't go to the police, Randy." Her face suddenly contorted into a mask of true desperation. "See? That's the whole reason I never wanted to get close to you to begin with…I knew—"

"Okay, easy." He soothed, cutting her short. "You're right, we can't go to the police." Randy agreed, chewing the inside of his lip. Whatever the case happened to be, no matter what had truly occurred with regards to her brother and the men who evidently wanted her dead, Randy knew for certain that none of it was Barren's fault. She was the victim, wasn't she? He tapped his fingers on his thigh as he appeared to contemplate the situation. "You can't go to the police, but I can make sure that those men can't find you. I'll pull some money out and we'll go to an obscure location until my suspension is over."

"And then what?"

"Well, then we'll reevaluate the situation and see if we can't just mesh you into the flow of things." Randy encouraged, tugging her into his lap. He had no clear plan, no true sense of direction, but he loved her and so he wasn't willing to contemplate life without her…he would figure something out. "Maybe we can change your identity, you know…give you a really garish disguise; one that no one would ever guess. Maybe we'll go away to another country, someplace tropical so you always have to wear a bikini."

"You would go away with me?" Barren asked and then justly warned. "We could be constantly moving…running forever."

He pressed his mouth in a kiss against the side of her neck. "I would do anything for you…no matter what it costs, no matter where I had to go."

Barren stared for a long moment at Randy. "You would put everything you've worked for on hold for me?" Her laugh was as nervous and facetious as her question.

Though he knew that she was mildly dubious, Randy was positive that he'd do anything for her. He'd drop his entire existence like a hot stone if it meant he could keep her. "Everything." He confirmed.

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The temperature outside had risen about twelve degrees, turning the impending snow into rain. That unexpected change in weather served as a source of irritation for Owen. Snow was easier to travel in, especially in the backwoods, where he knew he and Barren would have to trek and possibly camp in less than ten hours. Rain turned hard dirt into mud, stirred up the rivers and though it covered tracks fairly well, it slowed progress to a damnable crawl and soaked a man to the bone.

Owen was banking on the winter weather to aid in their acquisition of the evidence, as well as in concealing their flight from Sullivan. A fine tracker in the brush, Sullivan wasn't nearly as street-smart as Owen. Sully would be expecting Owen to use his knowledge of the streets to his advantage and would first look for him on major thoroughfares. Taking the backwoods might throw Sully off the trail and give them a head start. Therefore Owen could only pray for a continuous snowfall to keep the riverbank solid and not slippery and to cover the tracks that would be left behind as he and Barren made their way through the woods.

He pondered the cursed weather patterns, as he carefully opened the weapons case, paring his possessions down to only those which he knew that the both of them could safely transport once they were required to make the rest of the trip on foot. A minimum of items in tow ensured a maximum speed at which he and Barren could travel and aside from the weapons and a change of clothing, the incriminating evidence in hiding, was all that the pair would need.

The 9mm would do nicely for Barren. She could protect herself adequately with it and not be forced to wield a weapon with an irksome kickback, as would be the case with the 357 magnum that Owen had earlier chosen. The 357 could do the most damage with a single shot, yet it had the fiercest jerk of all of the weapons and was loud as hell, having not been outfitted with a silencer of any sort. Besides being fairly cumbersome and clumsy, Barren was also dangerously inexperienced with weapons. Whatever he chose for either of them had to be equally suitable for both of them to use. Owen grinned thinking of Barren in all of her blessed bumbling and fumbling…the last thing he wanted to do was equip her with a weapon that could blow a hole the size of a dinner plate in anything it fired upon. To do so would be foolish considering she could possibly discharge the weapon by accident and take his head off. He laughed. No way in hell would he give her the 357…she couldn't even be considered safe wielding a fingernail-file.

He fingered the cold muzzle of the .45 and nodded, deciding that this would be a better fit for Barren, should she need to use a weapon. The 9mm he would keep for himself, thinking that the rude and swift slide action of the weapon could tear the skin between her thumb and forefinger hand to ribbons, should she not hold it properly below the guard. Wisely though, he knew that he wouldn't outfit her with any means of mechanical defense unless it was absolutely necessary. She was simply too unsafe in ordinary circumstances to be trusted with a lethal firearm. Hell, he was pretty sure she shouldn't be permitted to butter her own toast.

Owen secured the items that he was prepared to take. The rest, he dismantled and discarded. The unsuitable weapons, he took apart and disposed of in pieces, so that no one could fish them out of the dumpsters and realign them for use in a crime. The extra clothing, he handed to a man on the corner who was attempting to snuggle under a newspaper earlier in the day. He wedged his laptop in a plastic bag to protect its hard-drive from the elements, sliding it into the duffel along with his and Barren's forged identification and other meager belongings and then he wiped all traces of his presence from the motel room.

He would ditch the rental car the moment Barren acquired the evidence and then the two of them would make their way through the backwoods up to the Canadian Border and cross it undetected on foot. Only then would he disperse the incriminating information to the authorities. Slamming the car door behind him, he belted himself in and turned the key in the ignition. Owen was desperate to have his questions about Barren's association with the wrestler answered, but those could wait. More than anything, he simply needed to get to her and hold her again; to erase all memories of the tall wrestler from her obviously muddled brain.

Owen was so absorbed in the thoughts of all that he and Barren could achieve once the remainder of the distractions were removed, that he passed his exit and had to turn the vehicle around. He finally pulled up in front of Randy's rental house, only to discover that the pair was already gone for the day. He grumbled his displeasure, knowing that this new delay in time was only going to stall their passage. But he had no time to waste and so he set out to scout their location so he could confront them and reign in Barren before her errant ways ended up costing them both their lives.

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"Thank you." Sullivan's voice was clipped, insincere as he grasped his carry-on bag from the overhead bin and brushed past another traveler, followed by his entourage of cohorts.

On a direct heading for the luggage carousel, Sullivan cared very little for the angry expression etched in his features. He was oblivious as to how imposing the crew appeared to be as they strode determinately through the Seattle/Tacoma international airport. Sullivan no longer held a care for meshing well into the normalcy presented by society. His anger prevented him from keeping the last vestiges of diplomatic behavior, because being discreet had gotten him nowhere. Sure, it was possible that everyone he passed, in the company of his men suspected that the group was up to no good; he just couldn't care less.

A glance to his left when he caught sight of Evan, told him that the crew of five was complete and they could now finish the task at hand.

"Nice flight?" Evan asked, rather noncommittally, falling into step alongside Sullivan. No answer emerged for several seconds and no one in the group broke stride until they reached the baggage claim area.

"Fair." He at last replied, his voice tight and then turned his gaze on Evan. "Seems your flight arrived right about the same time as ours…that's fortunate."

"Is it?" Evan's question was a layered inquiry.

Sullivan didn't bother to delve into its meaning, he lashed an arm out, with smooth efficiency and lifted one bag from the moving carousel strapping it over his shoulder. "The girl?"

Evan knew what his clipped question required…a plausible answer. "It's taken care of."

Sullivan knew that Lynn Orton wasn't dead and he knew that the vague answer Evan had given indicated that he wasn't willing to lie and yet he wasn't willing to dole out any more information than was absolutely necessary.

"Well, then that's good." Sullivan said, smiling to cover the truth of what he'd already discovered at Lynn's home. "So I shouldn't expect any wake from those waters."

"None."

Luggage in hand, all five men stepped out into the Seattle rain to take up the search for Barren O'Neal.

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Nancy hadn't heard the whimper that signaled the ever present hunger of her son, only because Dave Batista, unable to sleep, had removed the monitor from the nightstand and stationed himself in the nursery so she could sleep. Having only recently decided that she should share the task of feedings with others or be deemed selfish, Nancy had given in and allowed the occasional bottle of formula to be doled out. This act was more to indulge Vanessa's desire to hoard the baby boy for the purpose of preventing corruption by Audrey, but this morning, it served a different purpose.

Whipping on the shirt over her body, Nancy glanced at the time on the clock with a tremor of panic. She'd starved her son to death, she was sure of it. And though he wasn't crying, she was positive that she was the worst mother on record, for having slept through the morning. A swift survey of the nightstand told her exactly why she had not heard the baby boy. The monitor was missing and suddenly her head was filled with every nightmarish vision of intruders who took babies in the night, but then if that were the case, then they took husbands too, because Dave was gone.

Nancy padded swiftly down the hall and poked her head into the nursery, silently. Her husband's back was to her, as he sat in the rocking chair completely unaware that she was present. Dave Batista's deep voice could be heard, in a soft explanation of life's lessons and she simply stood behind him and listened.

"…and so that's why you never hit girls." He explained maturely to the baby boy who was lying on the leg he had crossed over his knee. "Mostly, you wouldn't hit them because it's impolite and wrong, but also because some of them take boxing lessons nowadays."

The baby boy seemed to be listening intently as he drank from the bottle his eyes alight with childlike trust, through a fringe of darkened lashes. And though Dave knew that he couldn't fully focus on the words or clearly see him, he liked to think that his son was completely understanding of the explanation. "It's always best just to get your big sister, when you're confronted by a girl…that's what I always did and it worked like a charm."

Nancy grinned and crept up slowly, so as not to interrupt the moment. "Hi…" She said softly, standing less than a foot off to the side of the rocking chair.

"Hey…" A contented expression colored his face when he turned his head and spoke. "Did you get some sleep?"

"Mmm, Hmm." She nodded, noticing how Nate's eyes seemed to search the air above him when she spoke as though he recognized her voice. "I'm sorry I slept in. I didn't even hear him."

He chuckled. "I stole the monitor and laid in wait with a bottle, that's why you didn't hear him." Dave wiped a dribble from the corner of the boy's mouth with his thumb. "The minute he started shuffling around like he was about to explode, I went ahead and beat him to the punch…he didn't have a chance to cry…besides we were just discussing guy stuff and so we didn't exactly need you around, interjecting a feminine opinion, did we?" He asked the boy in a very adult voice and was rewarded with only a blink as the boy continued to drink.

She couldn't resist the impulse to reach over his shoulder and graze the baby boy's nose and cheek and then to finger a soft curl. "He's never quite this awake when I'm feeding him. He must be very intrigued by such a manly conversation."

"Oh, he is." Dave nodded. " And…I'm pretty sure he's going to give me his _true_ opinion in the next few minutes." Dave informed her, nodding toward the change table which he had wisely pulled out of its caddy.

"I could take over from here if you need me." She offered, letting her hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"We were just about to discuss how to rebuild a carburetor." Dave informed, his voice low. "You wouldn't want to deprive him of that very valuable lesson, would you?"

"Of course not." A smile tickled her lips. "Are you sure, you don't need me?"

"We're good, here." He assured. "You seem to have forgotten I've done this twice before…I'm a pro."

Nancy pressed her lips to Dave's temple, unable to stifle the temptation to do so. "I'll be in the shower." She whispered against the flesh above his ear and then reached down again to touch Nate's face. "And while you two talk about the finer points of engine rebuilds, maybe you could stress to him the importance of remembering to put the toilet seat down?"

"Ah, that's right." Dave responded. "We'll get to that."

She was on the threshold of the nursery leaving, when she heard his gentle assessment as he told the boy. "Somehow I knew you weren't gonna get away without having curls, but that's cool, because girls dig curls…"

Nancy grinned as she made her way back down the hall to the master bedroom. One twenty-four hour period later and her life had completely changed. One twenty-four hour period and her willingness to let go of her fear and doubt…that's all it had taken to set things to rights.

And undoubtedly there would be more work to do, of that she was certain. This marriage would most _definitely_ require work since she didn't have the benefit of a historical recollection. But what she did have was the proof of a bond that had never really died out. Nancy had released the fetters that held her chained to insecurity and had plummeted full force in the unknown prospect of the past combining with a future and instead of being swallowed whole by it, as she had previously thought, she was embraced by it.

No longer did Nancy feel as if she had to hesitate before enjoying the things that she had once enjoyed. No more was she held back by the feeling that her husband harbored an ulterior agenda. And so now, there was only one thing she had to do. Just one last thing that had to be resolved before she could feel one-hundred percent comfortable with the choice she had made to move forward.

The key. In her hand, shiny and metallic. It was nothing more than a hunk of metal. It weighed little more than an ounce and yet it had enslaved her as if it had been a thousand pound chain with shackles. It had done so because she had allowed it to. She had given it the power to hold her in bondage, along with the doubt…and she was through with it.

The sound that the falling key made when it finally hit the bottom of the metal waste basket, was utterly freeing. The clank was comparable to chains falling off and she could even envision a prison door being unlatched. Whatever analogy her brain came up with didn't matter…the key was in the trash and that meant that she was finally free.

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	34. Chapter 33

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 33

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

_**Disclaimer**__**: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers.**_

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

_**I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing.**_

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"Today is the tomorrow I worried about yesterday."

- Sandi Bachom, _The Wrath of Grapes_

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"You know, I'll bet your Dad would enjoy it if you flew down here so the two of you could go hunting together." The words were a soft unimposing suggestion, as they fell from Jean Hadaway's lips.

Max nodded in silent contemplation as he listened on the other end of the line. "The only draw back to _that_ idea is that he'd make me clean and haul away anything we caught." He shuffled through Nancy's stack of sketch books as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder. "Dad never did tell you about how he made me drag that 12-point buck all the way from the river bank, up the hill and then he made me load it into the chest."

She laughed gently, remembering the specifics of the trip with ease. "If you kill it then you clean it. Wasn't that the rule?"

"I could probably dispute that unwritten rule in any court of law, Mom." Max pointed out good-naturedly as he remembered how he and his father had fired upon the large buck almost simultaneously, their bullets piercing mere centimeters from one another. "Dad took credit for the kill, but passed off the heavy labor to me by default since we didn't have the aid of on-site forensics testing."

"So then don't go hunting with him." She encouraged her son. "Make him go fishing with _you_. Even though you're a dead-eye with a rifle, I know you've always preferred fishing to hunting."

"Ha!" Max nearly barked in his mother's ear as he unearthed a large sketchbook that he discovered to be home to two dozen or more prototypes for the spring lines, that Nancy must have sketched and put away so that he wouldn't spill something on them as he was prone to do.

"I didn't think it was _that_ funny." Jean said backing the phone away from her ear and gently rubbing it as if she expected to find that her ear was bleeding.

"Sorry, I just found the Holy Grail!" He held the book up closing his eyes for a moment and sighing with relief at the knowledge that he and Nancy's careers were no longer circling the toilet. "Besides, if I take him fishing he'll give me the shitty bait just so I'll catch the cast-offs." Max chuckled, continuing. "He's been doing that to me ever since I accidentally sank a hook in his shoulder when we were casting back to back at Emerald Lake."

After a smooth smile and a sigh, Jean was suddenly reminded of the phone call she had received only an hour prior to calling Max. "By the way, were you able to get LittleJohn to do that legwork for you with the vendors you spoke of?"

That question quickly cast a black cloud over Max's decent mood. "Yeah…um, he checked everything out and so it looks like we can start doing business with those guys."

"The reason I asked was that his secretary called here less than an hour ago, concerned about his whereabouts. It appears he hasn't checked in with her for three days and she seems to think that's an odd amount of time for him to be out without some sort of contact."

"I'll admit I was expecting to have gotten the bill by now." Max said, neglecting to tell his mother that LittleJohn had been investigating a possible murder under his hire and might very well have met with some sort of foul play.

Max had given up on the prospect of reaching LittleJohn, via cell phone and had reported the situation to the police officer who had finger-printed the soda can Max had given him, during his search for dirt on Barren. Now, he was faced with the reality that he would have to do the right thing in calling the secretary to inform her that he'd enlisted the help of the detective in researching Barren and that the search had led to her brother and possibly something more macabre. It was the fair thing to do, giving her a place to start, especially if something _had_ gone wrong, yet conversely it would serve to leave them all with egg on their faces if the Private Investigator had merely gone off for a weekend with some buxom beauty he'd met or some other equally secretive pursuit.

"I'll call his secretary." Max offered softly before excusing himself from the call with his mother and springing into action with regards to the designs.

Max hung the phone up and snatched his keys from the corner of the desk. He was post-office bound, to send the binder full of prototypes through overnight mail to an independent sewing contractor that he knew could sew the designs and have them back to him in 48 hours, so Max could then in turn, ship them out to the companies who had contracted the designs for their spring lines. And Max knew that time was of the essence, because the first of the spring shows began in one week and so this was a last shot deal for he and Nancy to get their proverbial foot back in the fashion design door before they were shut out completely.

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Lynn sipped the water slowly, her shaking fingers holding the paper-cup, her body and soul deflated and numb as she sat in the wooden chair in the rectory. The throb in her skull had dissipated markedly. The dryness in her mouth was waning, but not the weighty feeling of failure and betrayal. And certainly not the sorrow of facing the rest of her life alone; that was still there, more imposing and real than it had been before Evan had entered the picture.

The anger that she'd felt was barely there too, she simply didn't have the physical strength to hold onto the fury. Lynn had woken less than an hour ago and it had taken several lethargic moments for her to figure out that she was in fact, on her back in a church pew. After that realization, it had taken a good ten more minutes of mental struggle for her to assess _why_ she was on her back in a church pew. The scattered remnants of her memory crept back together, realigning the picture of her previous encounter with Evan and she was prepared to react in rage. But she quickly found she couldn't, for when she struggled to sit up, hell bent on tracking the heartless bastard down she discovered the dress, tucked carefully beneath her arm…a wordless message from Evan that he still cared. Maybe even, that he always had.

The flash of light from the morning sunlight as it streamed through the arched windows had caught up inside of and flickered through the prismatic diamond on her finger, bringing it to her attention. Evan had left her brother's ring…if he had been the cad she believed him to be, he would have taken it with him, knowing that it was worth a mint. If Evan were truly the masterful traitor he appeared to be, he would never have left her in a safe place, far away from her home where he claimed she could be hurt. He had hidden her from _someone_, just as he had been trying to tell her; and he had only done so because he loved her. The fact that he'd made certain that she had her purse and all of her proper I.D., as well as the ring and the precious red dress, told her that he cared.

Lynn Orton pondered the situation for a few moments more, until her attention was drawn by the Reverend and the Mother swiftly returning her skirts swishing the stone floor. But what set Lynn's pulse to a nervous patter was the fact that the two of them were being accompanied by a uniformed police officer. She swallowed thickly, and turned her head away with a sigh. The last thing she felt like doing was answering any questions.

"He left her in the church pew and when I asked him if she was hurt he said that she was." The Nun informed the officer, wringing her fingers nervously. "She hasn't said much since waking, perhaps you can help her."

Lynn's gaze alighted on the officer who seemed as curious as he was confused. His hair was a deep ebony peppered with grey and his eyes were alert, yet kind. He reminded Lynn a little bit of her father, but only because of the eyes.

"Ma'am, can you tell me how you got here?" The officer asked, bypassing any niceties. "The church staff believes that the man who left you may have assaulted you in some way."

A brief, weak and humorless laugh escaped Lynn's lips, but she didn't respond verbally, at least not right away. She massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers.

"The security camera from the ATM machine across the street caught a still-second photo of him leaving, so we have a clear shot of his face and we can put out an APB on him." When Lynn still hesitated to come forth with a response, the officer leaned down and prompted. "If he hurt you, then we need to catch him before he hurts someone else."

Lynn knew that no matter what collective any local law enforcement mounted, they would never _'catch'_ Evan. And certainly it was more than likely that he would hurt someone again, but it sure as hell wouldn't be her…so why should she care? She glanced up at the officer in his crisply starched uniform and noticed the slightly impatient expression on his face…and _that_, was when Lynn was suddenly stricken with the all consuming urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation…despite her pain, despite the bleakness of her circumstance, despite the gravity of the entire rotten mess…and so she did. She laughed until the water in the paper cup rippled as she held it. She laughed until her sides ached and tears cut a path down her cheeks. She laughed until the Father, The Reverend Mother and the Police Officer stared at her as if she'd gone completely mad. Lynn didn't stop laughing until the officer cleared his throat loudly, his kind eyes boring a hole through her forehead.

"Excuse me?" The police officer inserted. "Is there a joke I'm not wise to? Is-is this a prank of some sort?"

"No, no it's not." Lynn said, sniffing and wiping her nose and eyes with the handkerchief that had been thrust her way by the suddenly disapproving, stern-faced Father.

The officer clamped his lips into a thin line, and then pursing them together he contemplated his words before speaking. "Far be it from _me_ to wanna do my job correctly, but with all due respect, your sudden expression of humor is hampering my investigation."

"I'm sorry, really." Lynn held up a hand in surrender and was once again possessed by a short round of tittering.

"Look." The officer held his hand up. "There's a possibility you were attacked and the fact that you find that funny, disturbs me and leads me to believe that I'd get better answers by having you sent to county hospital for an exam while I concentrate my efforts on finding the man that dumped you in the pew."

Lynn cleared her throat and stood to her feet, placing the paper-cup on the seat. "I am truly sorry and I don't mean to disrespect you." She began. "I just find the situation funny…it just looks so silly." She turned and draped the coat and dress over her arm, lifting her handbag and tucking it between her elbow and rib. "I—came to pray." She lied.

"To pray." The officer repeated.

"Yes, to pray." She affirmed, appearing slightly offended. "The last thing I remember was feeling woozy outside the door of the church and then, whaddya know, here I am waking up in the pew." Lynn chuckled and smiled as if to engage a humored response from the officer.

"Hmm." The officer crooked his upper lip. "They said the man admitted you were hurt when he was asked and that after he left, you were unconscious for at least five hours or so."

"Well, you see I can explain that." Lynn hesitated for a mere second before launching into a spur-of-the-moment, convoluted explanation. "I—uh, I'm an insomniac…you see, and so I don't sleep very often a-and I sometimes don't eat as well as I should…" She scrambled for an adequate way to cover all of her bases. "I guess my blood sugar just dropped and I got dizzy and fell and that gentleman, God bless his soul, found me and stuck me in that pew."

The frustrated look on the officer's face was barely tempered by the evenness of his words. "And…you found that funny, _why_?"

Lynn stuttered. "W-well—because um, my mother's always telling me I should go see a doctor for my condition, but, uh…me being the 'Au Naturale' girl that I am, I decided that I would p-pray about it—first." She flashed a smile and a nod to the three dumbfounded persons in front of her. They didn't appear to be buying her story, and Lynn was pretty sure she was going straight to hell for lying in a church, but there was no way she could send the police after Evan…no matter what he'd ever done to hurt her.

All four of them stood staring at one another, she at them and they at her. Finally the officer spoke. "Well, then…if there's no assault and no robbery, then I guess we're done here."

"Yeah." Lynn said a bit too quickly. "No robbery, I have all my stuff." She pointed to the items in her arms, preparing to shake the officer's hand and hightail it out of the church.

"Your stuff and some of _his_." The officer noted quite perceptively as he reached out and tapped the collar of the expensive leather jacket, that was draped over her arm, but barely concealed beneath the silken red dress.

"What, this? N-no, um this isn't his, this um, is actually mine…I mean, not mine, its my brother's. I wear it from time to time." Her voice trailed off at the end of her proclamation when she caught sight of the twitch of a smile tickling the Reverend Mother's lips and the stoic frown that creased the Father's forehead.

The officer lifted one disbelieving brow. "And the dress?"

Lynn let out another soft peal of laughter. "Well, now that's a matter for the Father and I to discuss…you don't mind, right? It's that confidentiality thing in confession, you know?"

Lynn's comment brought forth a soft snort of amusement from the Reverend Mother, which earned the poor woman a glare of incredulous chastisement from the Father.

The officer on the other hand was clearly less than amused and seemed to have developed a cursory twitch to his right eye, likely a result of his anger with her, but instead of railing on the Lynn as he would have liked to do, he simply smiled and offered. "Absolutely, in fact, after I leave I recommend that you go right in there and confess to your heart's content. I hear doing so works wonders for pathological liars." He snapped his notepad shut, tipped his head in a gesture of respect to the Father and Mother and then he spun on his heel and retreated.

Lynn Orton watched with a sense of relief as the police officer left, but her attention was drawn back to the Father when he cleared his throat, and lifted his brow into a sharp arc. He stepped into the confessional and curled his finger, casting toward her a severe judgmental glower, a silent authoritative command that she come. "I'll take your confession now."

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Vanessa had been duly prepared for the possibility of walking in on anything, when she pulled into the garage with Audrey in tow. It was conceivable, after her father's massive temper-fit and the broken door that she could very well walk in to find her stepmother packed and gone or both of her parents engaged in the middle of a hostile war. She had even entertained the notion that she could stumble upon a homicide if things got worse…Silly thoughts, when she took into account that Nathan was in there and so it was more sensible to believe that he would abate most of the tension simply by his innocent presence. No matter how frustrated her father became with her stepmother and vice-versa, little Nate was just too cute altogether for anyone in the house to stay mad at anyone else for long. Just looking at him cheered Vanessa up and she was desperately looking forward to commandeering her baby brother the minute she went inside.

Audrey on the other hand, had completely forgotten the fight and was chattering aimlessly about the school play that she would be in. Angry because she had been passed over for the lead, in lieu of Toby Davis and because of that, she was currently preparing for a battle with the red-haired menace once more.

"It's not even a part for a _boy_!" Audrey groused, reacting with true disappointment. "They just picked him because his Mom's always bringing cookies to the music teacher."

Vanessa grinned as she lugged her bag out of the trunk leaving room for Audrey to grab her own. "Just learn the lines for _your_ part and do the best you can. You have umpteen years of school left. You're bound to get the lead in a play before you graduate."

"I'm a _tree_." Audrey informed in a lackluster voice, both hands held out to her sides as she pinned her sister with a look of incredulous frustration. "I _have_ no lines. I just stand there and wave my branches when the choir sings."

"Oh."

"But I know all of the lines for _Toby's_ part." Her almond shaped eyes took on a menacing glimmer and the corners of her mouth curved up ever so slightly in a smirk.

"Well that's good." Vanessa encouraged, opening the inner door for Audrey. "Then if he gets sick or something, the play won't be ruined."

"Or if he falls on the playground, or drinks sour milk and starts puking before the play…"

"Audrey…" Vanessa warned, once she determined where her sister's line of thinking was taking her. "If you do something to Toby the night of the play…" She wagged one slender finger.

"I'm just _saying_…" Audrey shrugged. "He could even magically get stuck in the bathroom the night of the play, all kinds of stuff could happen."

Vanessa groaned as she frowned at the back of her little sister's head and then abandoned the idea of reforming her, in favor of finding baby Nathan. Her observance told her that though she might have anticipated walking in to see clearly staked battle grounds and a war zone complete with smoking landmines, there was nothing of the kind. No yelling, no slamming doors or splintering wood; what she did notice, was the light tinkle of her stepmother's laughter, coming from the office down the hall. Stranger still, was the fact that Nancy's laughter was followed by the low rumble of her father's voice and the deep softness of his own responding chuckle.

A glance told her that Audrey had already traversed the stairs headed straight for her rabbit and so Vanessa tip-toed down the hall to spy on her father and stepmother. The entire temperament of the household was most definitely calmer and she could feel it the moment that she walked in. It was a relief to Vanessa. And as surprised as she might have been to hear them speaking so politely, even fondly to one another when she pressed her back against the wall next to the open door where she could not be seen, she was shocked when she finally summoned the courage to peek. Her head poking around the frame the two of them sharing a photo album and its memories…with her father seated in the desk chair and her stepmother seated in his lap, one arm casually looped over his shoulder.

She certainly couldn't say exactly what had transpired in the time that she and Audrey had been away. But the one thing she knew for _certain_ was that someone in that office had won their battle, someone had lost and neither of them seemed to be bothered by it. Prepared to back away with the satisfaction of knowing that the household was back in order and without being noticed, Vanessa failed to watch where she was going and bumped the hall, console-table with her hip, sending the lamp toppling to the floor.

In her shock and discomfiture, Vanessa stepped forward into the line of the doorway in time to see both of her parents separate as if they were teenagers caught doing something they shouldn't. Her stepmother was on her feet in a millisecond, her father jerked in surprise and both adults adopted very neutral poses. Dave who was more amused than embarrassed casually adjusted his posture but Nancy who was sporting a nice blush, turned and pretended to fiddle with something on the shelf.

"I didn't expect you guys back for another couple of days." Dave informed. "Everything alright?"

Vanessa picked the unbroken lamp up, righting it on the console and straightening the shade, then she cleared her throat. "Yeah, everything's fine. I—we just thought you wouldn't mind if we spent an extra day…here…you know, to help with Nathan." Slightly embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping, Vanessa was seeking to cover her blunder. Her curious glance darted between her father and stepmother who evidently were trying to conceal the fact that they were all of a sudden more than happy to be hanging out with one another and though she knew she didn't have to ask, she simply couldn't resist. "Is everything…_okay_…here?"

She was sure her stepmother's face couldn't possibly get any redder and though she knew her father was more surprised than humiliated, Vanessa could see that he too bore the slightest shade of crimson. Simultaneously, both adults attempted to speak, affirming that everything was _'fine—okay—never better'_. The dialogue quickly became a jumble of broken words coming from both directions, eliciting a grin from Vanessa…yes, _something_ had definitely happened while she was gone and if she thought about the deeper, more secretive details for very long she would be forever traumatized. "Cool." Was her nonchalant response and with a deep sense of contentment, that things would now be normal, Vanessa turned to leave.

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Nancy didn't exhale her bated breath until Vanessa was completely down the hall. Only then did she sigh with relief. "I didn't even hear them come in." She admitted in a mortified whisper as she poked her head out into the hall confirming there were no more intruders to their privacy and then she closed the door.

He was behind her the moment she turned to face him, mere inches from the front of her body. "I'm going to have motion sensors installed." He joked.

"Or at the very least, we should close the door…" She wrapped her arms around him, lacing her fingers behind his back.

"It doesn't matter, because Audrey barges in anyhow."

As if on cue, the door flew open behind the two of them, slamming loudly into the wall, the heart stopping clamor of it ripping the two adults apart once more. In the doorway stood Audrey, wide-eyed and smiling. She appraised the surprised looks on the faces of her father and step-mother and then she stepped back out into the hallway and verbally confirmed in her loudest _'indoor voice'_, "Yep, you're right! I think they love eachother!"

Audrey then turned and grasped the doorknob. "I was just checking to see if she was right." She admitted, her eyes dancing as she grinned. She pulled the door shut behind her and her retreating giggle could be heard through the door.

"Maybe locks are a better idea…like the one on the bedroom door." Nancy offered.

Dave nodded slowly, as he walked his wife backwards until her back met with the door gently, the tiniest 'thump' resounding. "Locks are always good." His voice was soft and quiet as he pressed both massive hands against the door on either side of her head as if to prevent any more intrusions.

She couldn't clearly remember, but she was almost positive that she had always felt this sort of electrical thrill when he was close. Something about the dark enigma behind his eyes when he leaned in to kiss her made her want to write secret fantasies about him in a diary…and maybe she had. But at this moment his lips weren't a fantasy as they met with her mouth, firm, warm and demanding. And though she knew that this encounter would be short-lived, Nancy let herself be wrapped up in it…soaking in the feeling of falling, as dim and obscure flashes of a possible memory flickered across the backs of her eyelids.

Seconds later she reemerged from the fog of desire, mainly prompted by the sound of the phone ringing, but somewhat by the firm pressure of his hands on her backside, when he squeezed and then released, groaning and biting off a curse.

"I better take that." He said.

"I'm just gonna…" She began nervously as she took note of the lupine glimmer in his eyes that confirmed they had unfinished business. Something about that look made her feel deliciously naughty and she had to look away. "I'll let you get that." She cleared her throat and opened the door of the office, letting the cooler air in the hallway graze her heated skin. Afraid to venture into the common areas of the house and face her stepdaughters with a blush from her forehead to her toes, Nancy opted to go into her studio and piddle around for awhile.

Max was nowhere in sight, she discovered upon entering the studio and that was a bit of a relief. At least she could rummage through her office without feeling like she was snooping. Nancy noticed that he had obviously cleaned up the studio and she grinned, shaking her head. She liked Max…she wondered why he had been so scarce as of late. No doubt he was busy trying to balance the weight of running a company on his own. It was sad that he had been thrust into that position by her amnesia and as Nancy dug through her desk and her file cabinets absently, she suddenly set out to rectify the problem.

If she were half as responsible as everyone claimed, surely she had prepared some designs in advance. Now she would simply have to find them. That task had been made easier by the fact that Max had cleaned up the mess, but her brief search of the immediate area was turning up nothing. It was possible that she had some sort of back up filing system in a closet, perhaps and so it was also possible that she had thought to stash the precious designs there. Because the studio space was an exact bare bones copy of the town house, it meant that her search could be relegated to an additional three bedrooms on the upper tier and so Nancy ascended the steps and entered each room in turn. All of the rooms were mostly empty save for the master which had been outfitted with a sleeper sofa and littered with four bicycles leaned against the far wall. Inside the closet was a locked gun cabinet, housing half a dozen hunting rifles, which she was certain, belonged to Max.

Disappointed that her search had revealed nothing in the way of hidden designs, Nancy descended the stairs, when a cardboard filing box on top of the cabinets in the kitchen caught her eye. There was no harm in looking in the box since she had looked everywhere else in the studio with no result and so she scampered up onto the countertop without the aid of a stepping-stool. The precarious position allowed her access to the box even if she did have to stretch to reach the lid fully. Her fingers tipped the lid and as she stood on her toes, she was able to push the lid off, watching as it slid down and fell to the floor below her. "Come on…" She grunted in her attempt to balance the box so she could pull it down.

The effort to retrieve the box met with disastrous results when it slid forward, slamming into Nancy's chest, sending her falling fully backward onto the concrete floor below, her back meeting with it solidly. The sudden impact ripped the air from her lungs and even a tucked chin could not have saved her head from the snap backward allowing the back of her skull to hit the floor.

Nancy's vision suddenly blurred, a colorful shower of sparks swirling through her line of sight. From somewhere far away she heard the dull resounding of a bell. A doorbell maybe? A deep and loud thump began in her head and she was suddenly very aware of the weight of the box as it still lay on her chest. Though unconsciousness had not fully claimed her, Nancy suddenly had a deep urge to let it do so, but that desire was soon eclipsed by the much greater desire to kick Max's ass for putting the box on top of the cabinet in the first place. Her vision quickly cleared and Nancy pushed the box off of her chest and sat up…much too rapidly. A feeling of nausea, washed over her and she gritted her teeth as it settled and passed.

"Damnit Max." She groaned and rubbed her lower back as she awkwardly stood to her feet. "If I've told him _once_, I've told him a thousand times, _not_ to put boxes up that high." She muttered, taking note that though she was banged up, nothing was bodily broken.

The files inside of the box hadn't stayed put during the fall and were scattered around the floor. As her gaze swept over them, that was the very moment Nancy suddenly wondered how it was that she _knew_ she had told Max _'once and a thousand'_ times. How was it that she could _remember_ that it had even been Max that had put the box up there in the first place?

But, as strange as the whole thing was, she could clearly recall not only that incident, but the fact that she would _never_ have placed prototypes in a cardboard box. She recalled without hesitation that all of her prototypes for fashion lines were _always_ neatly housed in a very proper, black leather bound sketch-book in the middle drawer of her desk where Max couldn't possibly spill coffee on them.

One deep breath and a wide-eyed laugh later, Nancy was certain that she remembered everything. "Dave!" His name was out of her mouth before she could call it back and she was tearing out of the studio into the townhouse to find her husband. Up the staircase in a split second, she was in the master bedroom, but he was not. She called his name again, in desperation as she poked her head into the nursery, where Vanessa grimaced and motioned silence as she held Nathan in her lap, watching him sleep.

Nancy stepped out into the hall again and upon hearing voices coming from the open garage door, she launched herself down the stairs slipping on the last step and nearly pulling the newel post off in her attempt to keep from falling. Out of breath, smiling, Nancy was in sight of Dave…his broad back filling the doorway concealed the people to whom he was speaking…she called his name again in sheer, unconcealed exhilaration.

He turned, his body revealing that Randy and Barren were holding hands with one another in the doorway. They were whom he was chatting with. Barren…Barren? Oddly, like a movie reel shrouded in smoke Nancy could recall _exactly_ where she knew the woman from. And it _wasn't_ from Randy's introduction. The picture flashed through her mind as quickly as any memory could.

_..."I'm not gonna hurt you." Barren's soft words were what had prompted Nancy's eyelids to open a mere, unnoticeable crack as she lay there in the hospital bed. She could see the metallic glint of the key and then feel it being pushed beneath her back, just seconds before the woman retreated. She never saw where the woman had gone, since her eyes had closed of their own volition, giving in to her weakness. She had only barely heard the alarms before slipping away into unconsciousness again…_

Barren was the reason Nancy had the key in the first place…the key that she had hidden from her husband; that she allowed to dictate her distrust for a man that never would have hurt her…not in a million years. Firmly latched to the memory, Nancy locked gazes with Barren.

"What's wrong?" Dave asked, his smile fading into a look of concern, once he realized that she had come running from upstairs.

Nancy glanced at her husband and then back to Barren, whom she quickly realized _knew_ that she was now in full possession of her memory. It made perfect sense...all the questions Barren had asked in the time she had known her, the incident when Nancy had caught her snooping through the truck. Barren had been looking for that key…she was hiding something, running from someone and probably had been since the moment they met. And what's more, was that she had callously taken advantage of Nancy's loss of memory to regain the key, after hiding it on her in secret without her knowledge.

"Nancy?" Dave placed one hand on her shoulder, noticing that she seemed out of breath, slightly panicked and gridlocked on Barren. "Hello?" He prompted with a gentle squeeze, praying that the obvious, sudden flash of worry wasn't due to his son.

Nancy looked up again, plagued by a severely strong emotional tug as she stared at her husband. She clearly remembered how much she loved him; even remembered that she'd loved him the whole time. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him the truth, tell him that she knew all about the fun they'd had throughout their marriage; that she remembered _exactly_ how they'd made their son. On the verge of tears, she knew she couldn't tell him…she couldn't tell him, not until she settled this mess with Barren. Revealing that she had regained her memory to him right now and accusing Barren of hiding the key on her would only bring forth a denial from the red-haired fraud standing in front of her. Nancy might very well end up looking insane if she spouted off all she knew, not to mention the fact that telling Dave and Randy about the key, would reveal the fact that _Nancy_ had been hiding that very same key from Dave for quite awhile and that could potentially wreck the whole scene. "I-uh…" She began, swallowing deeply.

"Is something wrong with the baby?" Dave sidestepped as if to head upstairs.

Nancy grasped his arm. "No." She said quickly scrambling for an excuse for her alarm. "Its diaper…wipes." She said finally. "We're out."

"Diaper wipes?" He repeated calmly, one brow lifting.

Nancy nodded unable to speak around the lump in her throat. It was killing her not to be able to tell him that she could remember everything.

She heard his sigh and saw the muscles of his shoulders as they visibly relaxed. "Diaper wipes got you this upset?" He didn't appear to be buying it, but he made no gesture of argument, as he turned to look at Randy who also appeared confused. "New mothers." Dave announced. "Worried over even little things."

Nancy responded with little more than a withering, half-hearted smile.

"I'll go pick some up." She heard him say and she shut her eyes to block out a tear as he leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. "Let's go for a ride, Randy." He said, snatching his keys from the hook by the door.

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_**Readers, please accept my apologies for the serious lag in updates. I was out for a bit with knee surgery and then with the transition of my cable internet company being bought out I have had the crummiest service ever, so please forgive me and I promise to make the next update by the end of the week! **_


	35. Chapter 34

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 1

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

_**Disclaimer**__**: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers.**_

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

_**I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing.**_

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"The enemy of my enemy...he is my friend."

Anonymous

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It was a silent and unholy clash of wills between the two individuals; gloomy, guilt-filled grey eyes, meeting with wildly-glittering, angry, green irises. Neither woman spoke for a time as the air in the room seemed to vibrate with unseen energy. Nancy's hand was planted on her hip as she stood wordless and livid. Conversely, Barren stood with her arms loosely down to her sides, her demeanor contrite and humble. The seconds on the clock ticked by with exhausting lethargy as both pairs of eyes were locked in a deadly stare with one another.

If the two women had been alpha-females in the animal kingdom, it would certainly have been apparent to a casual observer that they were about to lock jaws and fight, but nothing of the sort occurred as Barren was the first to speak.

"So I guess you finally got your memory back." Barren fidgeted nervously with a loose thread on her shirt. "When did it…how did it happen." Her voice was soft and carried an air of timid interest.

Nancy nearly gritted her teeth at the innocent nonchalance that Barren exuded, but she calmly held her stance, refusing to blow her top when that was what she desired more than anything. After a calculated moment of non-action Nancy responded coolly in true, sarcastic form. "Taking into account exactly _what_ I remember, Barren, do you think it actually matters when or how it happened?"

Barren supposed that answering the rhetorical question might cause the fragile encounter to detonate into an explosive brawl, so she simply nodded and chose to counter with a query of her own. "Well then since you do have your memory, you obviously already know that the key you have doesn't belong to you, right?"

Before Nancy could respond, Audrey was bounding down the stairs making a cheerful childish request for powdered donuts. Nancy opened the pantry and handed over the box, with a soft warning that Audrey was to remain upstairs until she was instructed otherwise. Audrey crinkled one brow in confusion, responding. "But you said we can't take food into our rooms because—"

In her desperate frustration with the situation at hand, Nancy snapped her response. "Audrey!"

Not meaning to be stern in the heat of the moment, Nancy felt her face turn red. "I don't care what I said before…" She amended, placing her hands on Audrey's shoulders to forcibly turn her around toward the stairs. "Just go, with the donuts and stay until I come get you, understood?"

The gloomy nod, laced with a pout told Nancy that Audrey might be confused about the rushed response but she would obey and as soon as she was out of sight, Nancy turned her hateful gaze on Barren. "If we're going to have a conversation of _any_ sort, it's not going to be in here." Nancy didn't bother to hide the angry tone that wound its way through her voice as she stomped down the hall toward her studio, with Barren following her. Nancy allowed Barren inside shutting the adjoining door behind her and then spun to face her adversary.

"Nancy, I'm sorry." Barren began, in genuine repentant fashion, but was ceased abruptly when Nancy held one hand up in the air, her jaw set in a tight line and her eyes clamped shut as if she couldn't stand the sight of the woman in front of her.

Little more than a second passed before Nancy opened them again and spoke. "Barren, I'm not interested in your apologies, or your remorse. I don't want to hear your excuses or lies, or your bullshit, however pretty you package it, because it'll still be bullshit! The only thing I'm interested in; is _you_, gathering your things up and leaving before my husband gets back."

"I-can't—" Barren began, but was cut short again.

"If I tell Dave what you've done, he'll have you arrested." Nancy informed her. "That is, _if_ I manage to keep him calm enough not to snap you in half before the police actually get here!" She walked a circle around Barren, appraising the woman as if she were a flaw on a silk canvas. "Don't worry; I'm not going to sell you out to Randy, although I think he _does_ deserve to know what a liar you are. He adores you." She shook her head in disgusted awe. "He adores you…and he has no clue that you're using him."

"I'm not using him." Barren explained. "At least not anymore, anyhow."

Nancy nodded perfunctorily. "Oh, I see…Prada and a sense of honor…you have a lot going for you, imagine my surprise." Done toying with the woman in front of her, Nancy warned her once more. "The only reason I didn't 'out' you to Dave a few minutes ago is because I knew you would deny everything just to save yourself and end up making me look like a fool in the process. My advice would be to leave before they get back, unless you're in the mood to do a lot of explaining."

"I can't leave." Barren admitted, her soft voice giving credence to the guilt that bubbled forth.

"You can't or you _won't_?"

"I can't leave without my key." Barren told her. "You don't understand. I know you think I'm a complete fraud, but—"

"Trust me; you don't want to know what I think about you." Nancy announced.

"That key—" Barren insisted, with a hard edge to her tone. "I-It's really important to me, Nancy I won't leave without it."

"That _key_?!" Nancy nearly spat the word with disdain. She leveled a finger toward Barren's chest, as her face contorted into a mask of incredulous fury. "That _key_, almost fucked me out of a perfectly good marriage! That _key_…and all of the problems attached to it almost ruined my life!"

"It wasn't the key that did that." Barren corrected, her fierce glare suddenly matching that of the woman in front of her. "_You_ and _your_ doubts and paranoid delusions did a fine job of nearly fucking you out of your marriage on their own. Your amnesia was the lynchpin, not my key."

Though Nancy would have liked to lunge for the woman and wrap her shaking hands around her throat, she didn't. However cruel her summation might prove to be Barren's statement hung on a fine sliver of truth. Composing herself long enough to muster a mocking smile, Nancy cleared her throat and announced in a very calm and self assured voice. "Well, be that as it may…you're shit out of luck, because that _key_ and the curse attached to it…is in the trash."

The declaration though worded softly served much like a kick to the gut and Barren, wide-eyed and on the verge of vomiting nearly doubled over. Seconds later, standing to her full height and sucking in a breath, she let her finger-tips fly to her temples as if she'd instantly been stricken with a migraine. "The trash?" She asked. "How could you throw _my_ key in the trash?"

Nancy wouldn't let on that she did feel a bit sorry for Barren when she witnessed the obvious duress that the woman was experiencing. "Well at the time," Nancy explained. "I was under the impression that it was _my_ key and as to how I could do such a thing; it was fairly easy…I just lifted the lid and tossed it in." She smiled as she gestured the action with two hands.

Barren nearly stumbled over her own feet in her state of desperation. "I'll go get it out." She announced rather quickly. "Which trash is it in?" She turned on her heel to go.

"Oh I doubt you'll find it." Nancy told her, smiling. "Dave already took out the trash this morning, so I'm betting it's in a bag by the curb due for pick-up in…" She glanced theatrically at her watch. "Oh…about twenty minutes."

Barren's eyes went wide once more and she rushed to stand within inches of Nancy, grasping her shoulders in sheer alarm. "You have to get it! We have to get it!"

Nancy shucked Barren's grasp and pushed her arms forcibly away. "I? We? Me? Uh, Uh honey, I'm not digging through the trash for you or anyone else and as far as I'm concerned that key can stay lost for good."

"You have no clue what you've done!" Barren snapped, shooting daggers from the icy grey depths of her eyes. "I made a huge mistake when I hid that key on you n the hospital and I admit that, but I did it because my life was at stake!" Barren told her as tears formed in the corner of her eyes. "I know what I did was wrong and I tried to remedy it by getting the key back, but you had to go off and be difficult about it! Every time I tried to pry it out of you, you just clammed up and I tried snooping but I'm betting you had that damned key on you the whole time." She placed her face in her palms in desperation. "I'm not the kind of person you think I am, but I didn't know any other way to go about it. This wasn't supposed to be my burden to carry. Damn, Duncan…he had no clue trusting me with it was the biggest mistake he'd ever make…I'm too stupid and foolish and impulsive to be trusted with something so valuable and now I'm going to end up paying for it with my life…"

The tears dripped unchecked down Barren's flawless face and as angry as Nancy was inclined to be, she sensed the sincerity and the truth behind Barren's confession.

"Why did you not just _ask_ me for the key?" Nancy inquired, her voice taking on a less harsh tone. "If it was truly a matter of life and death, why didn't you ask for Randy's help, or our help? You could have even gone to the police. Why didn't you come clean in the beginning so we'd know what we were dealing with?"

"I know I should have, but you would have wanted to know how you came in possession of the key to begin with." Barren pointed out. "I sensed so much resistance in you when we met that I was sure you'd send me packing without the key and then I would be back to square one and probably dealing with the law on top of it. I couldn't take that chance...I hid the key on you as a spur of the moment thing and then when I met Randy, it all sort of fell into place. He was friends with your husband and it seemed like a perfect 'in' so I took it." Barren sat on the edge of the desk. "I was planning on snooping till I found the key and then leaving without looking back…I never meant for it to go so far. I never meant to become friends with you and fall in love with Randy." She blew out a breath of frustration. "To tell you the truth I was actually planning on ditching the whole damn plan…Randy and I were going to leave Seattle today and I was going to go into permanent hiding…he was going to quit wrestling for me."

Nancy sighed, one hand on her hip and the other pressed to her forehead in contemplation. "Are you doing something illegal?"

"Trying to _stop_ something illegal is more like it."

Everything had spun much too far out of control and Nancy was desperate for a way to pin it all back down. The thought of Randy Orton giving up his entire career for someone with a questionable past was not so foreign to her when she recalled that Dave had been willing to do the very same thing a few years back. Still she knew how young Randy was and very fickle he could tend to be. That fact combined with the unforgiving nature of the McMahons, Nancy was certain that Randy would be fighting a losing battle against being jobbed out if he ever did decide to go back to the WWE. And that would be Barren's fault.

"Look…" Nancy exhaled heavily, exhausted with the prospect of trying to figure out the why's and what's. "It's-it's in a grey garbage bag on the curb." She tempered her voice, unable to hold on to the sarcasm. "Go fish it out before it gets picked up and I'll give you twenty-four hours to get out of our lives. I'll smooth things over with Randy and say you called home to Ireland and discovered your mother was ill. I'll tell him you hopped a flight over seas, something…anything, but if you truly care about Randy you won't put the kibosh on his career for your own selfish desire to run and hide." She chewed her lower lip as she watched guilt and remorse flicker over the pretty auburn haired woman's countenance, when finally Nancy said gently and with finality. "And just so you know we can't be friends or acquaintances any longer…I have a family to think about. So please just go get your key and get gone."

"I think that sounds like a fine idea." The smooth and authoritative Irish baritone resonated through the studio, and the heads of both women whipped around in surprised unison.

Nancy was the first to speak, assuming the man was a prospective client. "I'm sorry sir, I'm not open for business today." She took two steps forward.

"The sign said you were open." Sullivan responded gesturing toward the door.

"My partner forgets to turn it around." Nancy explained with a good-natured smile. "If you'll leave your business card on the desk I'll get back with you on Monday. I'm just not taking clients today."

Sullivan let his hand fall away an inch from his side, a subtle gesture for Evan, who was behind him to lock the door and turn the sign. "Fantastic, then we're sure not to be bothered by any unwanted intrusions."

"Sullivan." The name was strangled in hatred as it fell from Barren's lips and the fact that she seemed to know the man drew Nancy's fearful awareness.

"Barren." Sullivan acknowledged politely with a stiff nod, as if he were merely content to bid her _'Good Day'_. He turned when one of his cohorts brought in the garbage bag through the door that as yet had not been locked by Evan. "Excellent, let's get started shall we?"

If the hair on the back of Nancy's neck had been rising only seconds before, it was at full attention now. "You know these people?"

Barren's nod was the wordless affirmation that led Nancy into a silent sense of alarm. Three children in the house and the two women were about to be robbed, accosted, raped or worse? Forcing herself to be calm, Nancy offered up the only thing she was sure they might be interested in. "Look if this is about money…" She began gingerly. "I have a thousand cash in my wallet and I'll give you whatever else you want if you'll just leave and not hurt anyone."

Sullivan lifted his gaze to the woman standing a scant foot or two away from him. Pretty…she was, despite the small slightly reddish scar on her forehead that told him she'd been injured not long ago. She was much shorter than Barren and even with a diamond on her left hand that signified she was married Sullivan still wouldn't have considered her unavailable if he'd had the time to pursue a lay.

He was curious as to her sudden desire to be accommodating for everyone's sake when only moments before, it appeared as if she might be intent upon doing Barren bodily harm. There was surely someone in the attached house, whom she wished to protect…or else she wouldn't be so all fire determined to offer them all of her worldly goods just to see them gone when she could clearly gauge that the only thing he and his men wanted was what was in a garbage bag on the floor.

"Oh, isn't that sweet of you?" He responded, in a soft mocking brogue, reaching out a single finger to brush back a stray curl. He was slightly pleased when she blanched at his touch…he liked women that had spice even if they appeared off limits for the time being.

In a silent military tactical signal, he motioned for Evan to enter the house through the adjoining door. Sullivan knew that Evan could and would enter without alarming anyone, so as to determine its layout and the number of persons inside. He also knew that there might very well only be children, since the three Irishmen had witnessed the departure of Randy and the only other adult male, from their vantage point in the car only minutes before.

"No, please don't go in there." Nancy asked taking a step toward Evan, but she was halted by Barren who held fast to her arm, despite Nancy's struggle. "Let go of me! My kids are in there…" She hissed, prying at Barren's vise-like grip.

"He won't hurt 'em if we just give up the key, Nancy." Barren insisted as the voice of reason. "If you try to go in there, he's going to get edgy and he _will_ hurt them."

"Get the fuck off me." Nancy lashed out in a low voice, pushing Barren's arm away by force of a hard slap to the inside of her elbow. "This is _your_ fault." She reminded through clenched teeth and then she turned to Sullivan inquiring in astonishment. "That idiotic key? _That's_ what you want?"

Sullivan nodded, apparently amused by the anger she displayed. "That'll do for starters."

"Fine." She snapped, stretching forward, grasping the bag with both hands, she lifted it up and shredded the side, watching the entire contents spill out with a hellishly loud clatter onto the concrete floor of the studio. "There it is." She announced, as she kicked aside an empty mouthwash bottle to reveal the key, attached to a ball chain, glimmering amongst the other trash-worthy items on the floor. "Now would you please take whatever else it is that you need, get that guy out of my house and leave?" Nancy fairly begged.

Sullivan tapped his chin in contemplation. "I'm afraid I can't do that." He sighed as he lifted up the key, dangling it in front of his face. "Unfortunately, as handy as this key is by itself…it's useless without the services of dear Barren, here."

Barren tensed and stepped closer to Nancy as she watched Sullivan walk a slow circle around the two women. "I'll go with you Sully, okay?" Barren consented. "But she and her family don't have anything to do with this. She doesn't even know what the key is for. We'll just leave and let them go on about their business, okay? You don't need them." As eager as Barren was to say something that would elicit a concurrent response from Sullivan she was positive it wouldn't be that easy to get him to back down.

Evan reentered soundlessly through the door of the studio confirming in hand signals that there were three children, two female and one infant male. And though the specifics of his wordless dialogue were unknown to Nancy, the chill that crept up her spine told her more than she wanted to know. Her eyes stung with fearful tears that she held back to prevent provoking a cruel response from the men.

"Well, whaddya say ladies? Shall we take a little ride?" Sullivan palmed the key and motioned for Evan to take Barren in hand.

No longer able to restrain the alarm building up within her, Nancy sputtered. "You don't need me." She touched her chest. "You have the key, it's what you wanted. I can't go with you, I-I have kids in there."

Sullivan reasoned. "You don't have a choice…I can take Barren alone, and then you'll call the cops…or I can take you as insurance and be fairly assured that you'll keep her in line long enough to get to the information we need." Sullivan stepped up behind Nancy and lifted his gun, running the muzzle gently upward in a straight line next to her spine. "The way I see it, _you_ have a lot more to lose than Barren does and since I know you'll want to come back to your precious little family in one piece…you'll make certain that your new best buddy Barren doesn't screw up, doesn't run away with my package…get it?"

"I _can't_ go with you." Nancy said firmly, closing her eyes. "I have a baby, I can't just leave." She further pleaded, hoping to stall long enough for Dave and Randy to get back.

"Let's put it this way." Sullivan hissed, tired of stalling. He pressed the muzzle into the cleft her neck just below her jawline, glorying in the tiny whimper he heard when the muzzle made contact with her windpipe. "Either you come along like a good girl, or I'll send Tulley upstairs to teach those pretty little girls of _yours_ some very grown up games." He smiled when he felt her tense in his grasp. "And that brand new baby boy…well, we might be able to find a home for him overseas after we get our money's worth out of a black market adoption. And as for your hubby…as soon as he walks through the door, he'll meet with a bullet in the face and I'll make you watch him die. You…I might keep around for awhile, just for kicks and then I'll make sure that you have the privilege of performing a lifetime of pleasurable duties for a list of fellows who might not care to be very gentle. Do you _really_ want to test me and see if I'll do it?"

Nancy shook her head, and as soon as he pulled the muzzle away, she wiped the tears away with her palm unable to look Barren in the eye. Her sudden all encompassing hatred for the woman eclipsed any sense of forgiveness that she might have developed in the last few moments and it was safer for the both of them if she kept her distance, lest she be possessed with the urge to strangle Barren.

"Okay, now that we're clear…Evan here will walk you upstairs so you can tell your daughters you're leaving for an hour or so. What's really important sweetheart, is that you don't say anything to put anyone on our trail…otherwise I'll be forced to take out my frustrations on your children…keep it simple and buy us some time, nothing funny." Sullivan turned his attention on Barren, instructing Tulley to handcuff her.

Nancy let herself be led away by Evan who had an iron-like grip on her elbow. "Just like he said." He prompted in a whisper, standing just to the left of the doorway so he couldn't be seen by either of the girls, but could hear everything that was being said. This meant that since no one in the room could see him…he couldn't see anything that physically transpired in the room. And though Nancy was counting on that fact, she would never take such a risk by trying to motion or indicate her duress to the girls.

Noticing that Vanessa was still holding the sleeping boy in her lap, while her head was turned, buried in a magazine, Nancy took that opportunity to palm the teenager's tiny cell-phone, slipping it into the cargo pocket of her Capri pants, without Vanessa even seeing it. "Hey Vanessa?" She spoke nervously.

"Yeah." Was Vanessa's nonchalant and distracted response.

"I have to step out for awhile, um I signed up for an art class at the college. I'll be back in an hour." Nancy lied, unable to form a decent excuse, she was just nearly convinced that she was about to get them all killed. "Can you watch Audrey and Nathan for me?"

Barely more than a glance upward from the article in the magazine to which she was riveted, Vanessa murmured her consent. "Uh, huh."

"I know you mentioned that your design project for Ms. Lafferty's class is due tomorrow." Nancy began, desperate to find an inconspicuous way to warn Vanessa.

"Yeah…" Vanessa murmured, still not meeting her stepmother's gaze. "I can work on it after you get back, no biggie."

"Well I was thinking…" Nancy said softly just that moment deciding on the very thing that would clue Vanessa in without raising suspicion. "Ms. Lafferty might really be impressed if you sketched the designs with something other than your plain coal pencils. You should use the Dorsey Coals in the bottom of my desk, your work will look really professional."

As she estimated, the offer of the prized Dorsey's caught Vanessa off-guard and she met Nancy's gaze with just the slightest bit of confusion. But, it was the ever so subtle shake of Nancy's head and the serious and alert expression on her face that told the teen something was amiss.

"I'll be back." Nancy grazed one hand over the soft curls that adorned her sleeping son's head and turned on her heel leaving the room with a newfound sense of survival and an enormous desire to thwart three Irishmen.

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There were easily at least a thousand different types of baby products lining the shelves in front of him, many more choices than had ever been present when his girls were babies. All different varieties and configurations; homeopathic 'this', hypoallergenic 'that', how was a person supposed to choose? Aloe or lavender, lotion filled or perfume and dye-free? It was enough to make a man dizzy with fear, or at the very least intimidated to shop for children under the age of five.

"Look for something that says _'Pediatrician Recommended'_." Randy suggested wisely.

"Oh, yeah…that sounds good." Dave reached for a package, pulling it from the shelf. "And how is it you know that?"

"Commercials man. Don't you ever watch television anymore."

"Not lately." Dave admitted, deciding to steer the conversation into deeper waters. "So am I too forward in asking why you have three fully-packed suitcases in the back seat of your car?" He had noticed them as he backed out past the rental when leaving.

"No, you wouldn't be." Randy let a lazy smile drift across his face.

"Well, I know your suspension is almost over, but I didn't think you were planning on hitting the road just yet."

This was the difficult part, Randy knew that Dave wasn't a man that accepted vague explanations and besides, he was a friend…he deserved the truth. "I'm actually thinking of pursuing something _other_ than wrestling." He watched Dave drop his wallet as he tried to juggle the bill he'd just removed from within it, along with the news that had just been dropped in his lap like a bombshell.

"Like what?" Dave asked, as he retrieved his fallen wallet, accepted his change and palmed the box of diaper wipes.

Randy followed behind Dave, out of the store after purchasing for himself a bottle of water and a fitness magazine. "Well—maybe I'll pursue something like, um—I don't know…marriage maybe."

Dave Batista stopped dead in his tracks, spinning around with a furrowed brow and a disbelieving smile carved into his face. "You're full of shit." He observed the look on Randy's face as if to gauge whether he was ribbing him or not.

Both men entered the navigator before Randy finally spoke. "I know it sounds like a 'work', but I'm gonna ask Barren to marry me."

"You…married…" Dave said each word with firm disbelief. "'One night stand, Randy'…the jackass with a black-book full of on-demand, booty-calls…married? You really are full of shit." He laughed as he cranked up the engine.

Randy scoffed in mock regret, holding his hand to his chest as if he'd taken a gunshot. "That really hurts, bro…but seriously…to dispel your doubts about my intentions I have this little token, which I plan on presenting to her tonight." He slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out a navy blue velvet ring box, snapping it open to reveal a single, large marquise-cut solitaire mounted on a smooth, wide platinum band.

Dave appraised the pretty diamond, letting out a low whistle. "Very nice." He handed the ring box back and watched as Randy slid it back into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Forgive me for asking, but aren't you in hock as far as rings go? I don't remember you mentioning whether you got the other one back yet or not."

Disinclined to mention the entire situation with the first ring and the details of which, when combined with Barren's fears had prompted his decision to leave Seattle, Randy merely responded with a soft, _'naw'_. The last thing he wanted to do was to get a lecture from Dave about what his lack of maturity had brought about, so he quickly changed the subject. "So, I'm thinking, small wedding in an obscure location, no wrestlers other than you of course, if you'll stand up for me."

It was a hint, Dave knew, but before he could commit to being his friend's best man, he had to be honest with him. "I have one more question and then I'll be satisfied."

Randy swallowed and nodded, unsure what the question might be or whether he would even care to hear it.

"Is she worth giving up your career and everything you built? Because if not, then it'll never work."

Randy stared down at the dash pondering the question. He didn't have to answer it but he needed to, for himself more than for Dave's curiosity. "You bet she is."

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He had expected to walk in to find the relieved countenance of his wife who would surely be elated to have a fresh supply of diaper wipes. What Dave Batista actually walked in to find was the fearful and panicked visage of his oldest daughter who was desperately trying to calm his loudly wailing baby boy.

The image before him suddenly set him to alarm and he laid the box of wipes and his keys down with a thump, motioning for her to hand over the baby. "What's wrong?" He asked, his face a curious mask, as his mind scrambled for a reason as to why his wife hadn't already come running to soothe the baby boy.

Vanessa, normally composed and collected, burst into tears as she handed the baby to her father. "Daddy…"

Hair prickling on the back of his neck, Dave could tell the sheer difference in the atmosphere of his home and sensed the threat before he could see it. "Where is Nancy?"

"She _knows_, Dad…she remembers everything." Vanessa sobbed.

"How do you know?" He asked, as he walked with his son fully into the living room.

"She knew about the Dorseys."

"Coal pencils? That's how you know she got her memory back? And why are you crying?" Dave said, trying to tamp down the feeling of foreboding. "Where is she?"

Vanessa huffed in her tearful state. "That's what I'm trying to tell you—she's gone."

"Gone where?"

"She said she was going to an art class—"

"And you let her leave?" Dave boomed in frustration. "She doesn't take an art class!"

"Well I know, but I just assumed she couldn't remember anything and I wasn't paying attention anyhow until she mentioned the Dorseys." Vanessa insisted. "Dad the only way she would have known about the pencils is if she had her memory, because they stay locked up in her desk. She and Barren left not more than a half an hour ago."

Dave knew that Vanessa's claim must be true being as the pencils were a prized gift from his daughters and thus had never yet been used. Indeed they did stay locked away and the key to retrieve them was on an unlabeled keychain in the studio. The only thing rattling his brain at present was the fact that his wife was gone. If she had her memory back she would have known that there was no such class and suddenly he was possessed by the thought that something was truly wrong. He knew unequivocally that she would never have left the house without Nathan in tow, especially when he considered how she hovered around even when someone else was holding him. She simply would never have left Vanessa fully in charge of a new baby, no matter how mature the teenager had proved to be. Something was very wrong. "Why the hell didn't you call me when she left?"

"I tried." She insisted. "But my cell phone is gone…I think she took it and I think that they didn't leave alone because she acted like someone was listening to us."

Dave passed Nathan back off to Vanessa despite his heart wrenching wails. "She took your phone?"

"Yeah, I think…maybe we can call her and see if she's okay."

"No." Was his resolute response as he stalked toward his office. He knew why his wife had taken Vanessa's phone and it wasn't because she was hoping to receive a call. If she was in some sort of danger, calling her would be the worse thing he could possibly do.

Randy who was now utterly floored by the sudden realization that both women had either fled in fear of something or been taken by someone finally found his voice. "She had to have taken it for some unique reason or else she would have taken her own. Maybe Vanessa's was just handier to grab without being seen if she was being watched."

"That's not why." Dave said as he opened his laptop, booting up the program and letting himself into his cellular phone account. "She took it because we had gps locator put on Vanessa's phone. It was this option that came out last year for children's phone accounts and one you hope you'll never have to use, but damn glad that you paid for."

"Smart girl…" Randy mused as he stared over Dave's shoulder watching as he pulled up the location of the phone.

"The only bad thing about it, is that it only updates the location every five minutes so we could pass them if they turn off somewhere and end up having to backtrack."

"I think we should just call the police or something." Randy suggested as he raked his hand through his hair. "We can let them know about the gps and they can take over from there."

"Missing persons reports don't go into effect until 48 hours has lapsed, Randy." Dave snapped irritably.

"Daddy." Vanessa interrupted. "Max was here right after they left, but he was really rushed and he had this huge duffel bag in his truck. I think he knows something. He wouldn't even say more than two words."

"I don't have time to worry about him right now." Dave, pulled the laptop from its location and wrapped the adapter around it. "Call your mother and get her over here to sit with you and you call the minute Nancy walks through the door if this just happens to be some sort of joke." His voice carried a distinct edge of anger as he shuffled the laptop and walked quickly toward the garage.

He had barely pulled his keys from their place on the countertop when he heard the small voice of his youngest daughter as she emerged from the hallway, holding her cape instead of wearing it. "Daddy?"

"Go sit with your sister until your mother gets here." He instructed, but found himself halting involuntarily at her next words.

"I saw a car and they got in it." She admitted softly.

He knelt down and locked gazes with Audrey. "Can you remember, what kind of car it was?" Dave Batista knew that it was highly unlikely that she would know the make, but he was sure that she might remember at least the color.

"I don't forget…if I write it." Audrey said humbly and quietly, yet with the distinct pride of someone who had just saved the day. Her arm lifted and in her tiny, sticky hand was a crumpled page from a coloring book.

Dave Batista accepted the page and as he unfolded it from its tattered ball-like state he made out the blocky child-like letters and a shape that had been drawn in blue crayon. C42 was followed by a backwards L and then a J5. It was no doubt the license plate number. "What's this shape Audrey? Does this mean something?" He pointed one blunt fingertip toward the shape that resembled a 'peace sign'.

"That's the shape on the back of the car. It's like the one on Mommy's car…_Just_ like it." She said proudly.

"I see…" Dave nodded. "It's a BMW, then…is it a _car_ like mommy's or an SUV like Nancy's?"

"It's a car, like Mommy's and it's blue just like the crayon I wrote with." Audrey affirmed and then added with remarkable accuracy. "There are three guys with them, two of them are tall like you and one is short."

Three men. Not bad odds, unless they were armed as Dave assumed they would be. The bigger part of him was insanely confused as to who the men were and why they had come to his home and removed his wife and her friend from the premises. The other part of him; the smaller more animalistic and completely unreasonable side of him was simply filled with rage at the thought that someone had the sheer audacity to abduct them both, in broad daylight. "Good job, Thank you Audrey." Dave kissed her on the top of her head, sending her upstairs and then he left with Randy and the gps locator in tow.

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It was a maddening car chase, even when the person you were pursuing had no idea you were pursuing them. Owen had been parked across the street from the wrestler's home and had just about been prepared to exit his vehicle when he caught sight of Sullivan, Evan and Tulley escorting, if you could call it such, Barren and her friend from the house. There had been no screams of fright, no terrified attempts to escape, just simple acquiescence as the two women were led to the car and placed inside of it.

He hadn't been prepared to have his heart feel like it was being torn from his chest and he paused in such utter fear for Barren that he had almost missed his opportunity to pursue them, having to kick on the ignition and follow the very small puff of exhaust until he regained sight of the blue BMW, half a block later. Owen knew they wouldn't recognize him even if they looked in the rearview and managed to catch a glimpse of him, being as he was wearing a blonde woman's wig. Despite that fact, Owen kept his distance, not daring to alarm the men and cause the two women harm, yet not content to allow the Beamer out of his sight.

It really didn't matter if they did manage to accidentally elude him, via a badly timed run through a red-light or other unforeseeable traffic conundrum. It didn't matter, because Owen knew where they were headed…The YMCA in downtown Seattle. Once he tracked them there, he could in no wise get lost, because after they found what they were searching for, their destination posthaste, would be anyone's guess.

Owen reached over, plunging his hand into the duffel-bag on the passenger seat and palmed the .45 caliber, reassured by the deadly weight in his hand that he was doing the right thing.

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"So tell me…" Sullivan began, as he peered curiously into the visor mirror at Barren's reflection in the backseat. "How was it that you managed to elude me for several months with little to no resources?" Without waiting for the answer, he turned his questioning gaze on Nancy. "And how does it feel to know that she used you to do it?"

Neither woman chose to respond. Nancy sat rigid and fearful on the other side of Tulley. The man had no grip on either woman, but both were equally submitted by sheer force of fear and the fact that the car was barreling down the road much to fast for either to contemplate jumping out.

"No response?" Sully toyed with Barren. "I must say that I admire your ingenuity. I had come to suspect that you were in possession of the key the entire time, though I'm not sure how you came to be, so you can imagine my surprise to find that your friend had it. What was she doing with it?"

Barren made no move to answer. It wouldn't matter if he knew. He might compliment her on her ability to throw them off of her trail, or he might laugh, but in either case he was going to kill them both unless they quickly sought to think on their feet so why throw him a bone he didn't earn?

"Maybe _you_ could answer my question." Sully directed his query back to Nancy, noting that she paled considerably the moment he had her under the gun.

Nancy turned her head and stared out the window as if she preferred the scope of the scenery to answering his question.

After a moment of her silence, Tulley's meaty hand curled around her inner thigh, his fingers biting painfully into her flesh. "Answer him." Was his calmly whispered command after he heard her yelp.

"_I_ had the key." Nancy told him, her voice little more than a choked murmur. "Because I thought it was mine."

"Interesting…and how would an obviously intelligent individual think it belonged to them? Surely you knew it didn't." Sully was curious.

Nancy let out a small sigh and then in a timid response, clarified. "It's a long story."

Another painful squeeze to her inner thigh and she was forced to continue. "I had amnesia from the wreck we were in and she hid the key on me in the hospital…I didn't remember that fact until this morning."

"So _you_ had it the entire time?" Sullivan was verging on laughter that he could not contain. "And you had no idea what it was or why you had it?" He could imagine the woman's confusion upon finding the key and having no memory of it's purpose.

"I thought it was mine." She mumbled.

"Unbelievable. _You_ had it and Barren somehow managed to finagle her way into your home and the sanctity of your inner circle to get it back?" He chuckled.

"Something like that." The moment Sullivan spat out his summation of the situation, it sounded so calloused and cold in Nancy's ears that she could scarcely contain the impulse to scream, but she did, grinding her teeth in frustration.

"How in the world did you manage to keep it out of Barren's hands this entire time?" Sullivan probed.

Nancy speared Barren with a look of barely checked hostility. "I hid it, because I thought I was the one who had something to hide…I should have known better."

Sullivan turned fully in his seat, pinning Barren with a gaze of true approbation. "By God, I had no clue how truly resourceful and cunning you could be—"

"Cunning?" Nancy nearly snorted a laugh, despite the tense air of the situation. "_I'm_ the one who had the key the entire time—don't you think it should be me getting the praise?"

Barren narrowed her eyes giving an equally scathing retort. "You only concealed it, because among other things, you thought you were stepping out behind your husband's back! You didn't even have enough faith in his love for you, to come clean with him and ask him about the damn key—you're not cunning, you're a coward."

"And you're a bitch—" Nancy snapped, making an effort to reach over Tulley's massive body to grasp a handful of any part of Barren within reach. The situation quickly reached a fever pitch with both women hurling deadly insults at each other and two of the three men in the car laughing. It took Tulley wrenching Barren's hair until her face nearly met her knees, along with his other hand once again tearing at the flesh on Nancy's thigh, to temper the quarrel.

Both women finally settled and quieted, with Sullivan and Tulley chuckling all the while. "Well, whoever said this day would be uneventful was certainly wrong."

"Keep your hands to yerself." Tulley instructed finally before releasing either woman.

Despite the anger flooding through every nerve ended in Nancy's body, the argument had served its intended purpose…it had rattled the iron cage and fractured the focus of the three men in the car. It was a distraction and even though peace had been regained, both women instantly knew that another fight was all it would take to tip the balance.

"What makes you think that Duncan didn't have an alternative in place?" Barren dared to ask Sullivan. "How do you know that he didn't already have copies of that information sent to someone else?"

Sullivan laughed lightly. "Well, I can't say that the thought hadn't crossed my mind." He pondered. "But I'm more apt to think that you're the only one he would trust."

"Well, I hope you have a hell of a back-up plan in place." Barren snapped. "You never know if I might be tempted to go AWOL."

Sullivan's nostrils flared; the first outward sign of his inward frustration. "Don't make idle threats, sweetheart."

"It's not a threat, Sully." Barren's deadly calm remark was followed by an icy glare and a sinister smile. "The minute you turn your back on me I'm going to kill you."

Sullivan matched her glare with one of his own. "Is that a fact?"

"I don't have anything to lose, right?" She reminded him.

"And thus I'll remind you of why we brought _her_ along—_you_ may not have anything to lose, but she certainly does." Sully's reminder was the last thing Barren remembered before Tulley's elbow connected with her chin, plunging her into a dark fog.

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	36. Chapter 35

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 35

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

_**Disclaimer**__**: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers.**_

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

_**I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing.**_

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"Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real."

**Iris Murdoch**  
_British novelist (1919 - 1999)_

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They were passing countless businesses as they neared the downtown district of Seattle, where they would soon stop at the YMCA and retrieve the singular cache of information that held all of them in desperate sway. Evan could scarcely concentrate on anything, save for the end result of what the entire culmination of events might mean. He wanted out. Maybe a month or two ago he wouldn't have cared that he'd be required to kill someone, because little more than a month ago he _had_ killed and he _hadn't_ cared. But that was before he had settled upon the appealing task of setting his life back to rights and doing it with a woman that he loved.

He glanced for a mere millisecond in the rearview mirror and that was enough for him to see the silent but angry set to the dainty jaw of the woman who had been dragged into the whole situation completely unawares. She had a family; children, a husband and probably a pet or two. I was easily considered complete taboo to kill her, but Sullivan would. Scarcely more than a month ago and Evan _himself_ might have killed her with little or no remorse. My, how love and the span of time could change things. He didn't want to see the woman die; she had just barely become a mother if their sources were correct. He was pretty sure she deserved a chance to see her child grow up, but he doubted his cohorts would agree with his logic.

Truth be told, he didn't even actually wish to see _Barren_ die, despite all of the trouble she'd caused for everyone thus far. It didn't really matter that killing Barren and her friend would solve the current problem and erase the trail that would lead law enforcement right to them; Evan simply had lost his once insatiable taste for blood. At least for _her_ blood anyway. There still remained _one_ person in the vehicle that he dearly wished to snuff out; Sullivan. Of course he would kill him…Sully had it coming and was long overdue in Evan's opinion. Tulley also would have to die, due to his simple association and loyalty to Sullivan and the certainty that he would step between the two, should a skirmish arise. And so as Evan weaved in and out of early morning traffic, he was setting in motion a plan to kill both men, dispose of the pertinent and damning evidence once Barren had it in hand…and then he would let the two women go. After that he would change his name and all of the identifying factors so he could not be caught, should one or both of the women decide to go to the authorities. And finally he would make his way back to Lynn…because without the prospect of being with her for the rest of his life, he may as well let it all end today.

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It was simply the saddest thing Angie Bautista had ever borne witness to; the incessant, panicked wailing of the boy who could not be soothed. This was most certainly evidenced by the quiver of his lower lip and the hopeless squint of his tiny eyes as he fairly screamed in his discontent. She had no sooner entered the home of her ex-husband, upon hearing the clamor. One child crying in hunger and great dissatisfaction and a teenager crying in desperation, because she simply hadn't the knowledge or the experience to comfort the baby who had been left in her care.

"Let me have him." Angie prompted calmly after bolting the door behind her and then dropping her purse and keys on the coffee table with a resounding 'plop'.

"I don't know what to do." Vanessa sobbed. "I tried to feed him and he won't stop crying. H-He's not wet…I don't know what's wrong!"

Angie nodded as she took the baby boy in hand. "He senses you're upset and that's probably part of the reason _he's_ upset." He wasn't her child, but he was _a_ child and despite the fact that he belonged to her ex-husband's new wife, there was no animosity in Angie's heart for the boy. Angie had never been wired that way. Even if she hadn't been friends with the woman who could be considered her replacement, which was certainly not the case, she could never have transferred any harbored anger to a child. She quickly began speaking to the boy in soothing tones as she confidently paced the floor, with a gentle jostle, reassuring him that she understood little boys could have bad days just like adults. The cries of 'baby-bloody-murder' soon dissipated to a mere intermittent whimper of dissatisfaction, upon which he began to find himself lulled into sleep.

Angie, in her motherly experience soon had the boy out for the count, after which she quickly went to minister to her teenaged daughter who was still visibly distraught.

"I was so mean to her." Vanessa rasped, lost in her thoughts of failure. "I was mad at her for not remembering how things used to be. I treated her like it was all her fault."

Angie hooked her arm over the shoulders of her oldest child, who was apparently still just as vulnerable as her youngest one. "Everyone was frustrated with the situation, including Nancy. It's hard to know how to react when something like that happens."

"I practically ignored her when she came in my room today." Tears rolled over Vanessa's black lashes, sliding down her cheeks to land on the fabric of her pants as she sat cross legged on the sofa. "I was still mad at her even though we had made peace…I was just angry because I felt like she was still somehow robbing us of being a family."

"You had no way of knowing what was going to happen. You can't beat yourself up over this."

"She tried to tell me!" Vanessa insisted thumping her own chest with her forefinger. "And I had better things to do…I hardly even looked at her. What if she thinks I hate her?"

"Nancy knows you don't hate her."

Vanessa's face contorted into an expression of undeniable agony as the tears hit hard once more. She stared at the ceiling, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Finally she looked back at her mother. "What if something happens to her and the last thing she remembers was that I was mad at her? What if that's the last thing _I_ remember about _her_, huh? What if I always remember the sad look on her face before she left, because she thought that I didn't care?"

"Even if you _were_ mad at her, Vanessa," Angie began as she pulled both of Vanessa's hands into her own. "I can guarantee that's _not_ the last thing she would remember…that thought would never even cross her mind."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I'm a mother and so I can promise you that any truly loving mother…even a stepmother, isn't selfish enough to think of her own hurt feelings." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "I can tell you what she _will_ remember, though."

Vanessa wiped at her nose and waited for her mother to continue.

"She would remember the time the fan kicked on in the auditorium at your piano recital and it blew your sheet music in ten different directions. She'll recall how you panicked for a split-second and then you hitched up your chin and kept on playing; mistakes and all." Angie saw Vanessa crack a half-hearted smile. "I bet she would remember when we all got snowed in at Grandma Leticia's after Christmas dinner and you and Audrey and your cousins made up a theatrical production using Grandma's nightgowns, or she would remember when Audrey got lost at the pay-per-view in Madison Square Garden and you all had to call the police, but then found her in the sound truck hanging out with part of the crew."

"I think Vince McMahon pulled Dad into a pow-wow because of that one." Vanessa sniffed and let out a tiny laugh.

"See?" Angie encouraged. "Nancy would remember every good thing, or funny thing that you guys ever did or said, but never the bad…not in a time like this…she would never even think to dwell on the fact that you might have been mad at her, because she loves you. You'd be surprised what little sins love can override, especially in your children."

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"Why me?" Nancy asked timidly, her heart rapping furiously in her chest as she twisted the corner of her coat between two fingers. "I won't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for."

Barren, who had only moments ago, awoken from her elbow-induced stupor, had the temerity to cackle. "Knowing Duncan, like I do…we're on a scavenger hunt…and this is probably only the first leg of the journey." She rubbed her sore jaw and swallowed yet another small taste of blood. "You should definitely let me go in there."

"Why, so you can take off with whatever you find and leave me holding my nuts?" Sullivan inquired upon a slight air of sarcasm and then he turned once more to face Nancy. "Barren stays with me and you'll go inside with Tulley. He obviously can't follow you into the women's locker-room, but mark my words if you should decide to run, I can make it back to your house a lot faster in this car than you can on foot and I will most certainly do to your family exactly what I said I would."

Nancy nodded, consenting because she had no other earthly alternative. Barren had all of a sudden become uncharacteristically insubordinate, so Nancy couldn't count on the woman's unpredictability to save them both from disaster. If _anything_, that very fickleness on Barren's part was liable to land them both right in the middle of a ton of trouble.

Tulley reached over Nancy's lap and grasped the door handle, giving a gruff order for Nancy to step out and remain by the side of the car until he was able to get out himself to stand beside her. She could have bolted and run…she knew not a single one of those men would be fast enough to catch her if she did. Hell, even Dave couldn't catch her when she was at a dead sprint, unless there happened to be some sort of obstacle in her way. But running, she knew would only make things worse. Sullivan was right, even if she was able to get away and call home in time to warn her family, there might already be someone stationed at the house watching, waiting for Sullivan to give the order to kill them. Though he had not told her that there was someone there, it would not have been unheard of to think that he had employed some such individual. It was better not to risk it at all…or at least not to risk it this soon in the game.

Their walk was brisk but nonchalant, drawing no outward attention to the pair, as Tulley guided Nancy by force of a firm grip on her elbow, through the line of parked cars in front of the YMCA and then through the glass doors inside the building. The rush of warm air hitting Nancy in the face only added to the sense of nausea that she was already feeling, but a swift touch of her fingers to the metal key that dangled around her neck just beneath her shirt brought a sober reality in once more and the sickness fled instantly.

A petite woman in a baggy pair of khaki pants topped by a royal blue shirt with her name and title embroidered above her left breast, greeted them with a smile and inquired as to the nature of their visit.

"My wife and I are interested in a membership." Tulley answered with a suave ease that contradicted his outward rough and rugged appearance.

The woman gave a sharp nod, another smile and with a sweep of her hand she gestured toward the expansive building that spread out behind her. "Well we certainly have a number of programs, many of which I am certain should be able to fulfill any need you have. Aerobic, pilate and kickboxing classes everyday if you're interested."

Tulley gifted the woman with a knowing grin and then he turned to rake his eyes down the front of Nancy's body. "As you can see, my wife is in much better shape than I am." His voice held a sensuous nuance that sent a chill up Nancy's spine. "She certainly needs less work than I do."

"I'll be happy to show you all of our weight equipment." The woman announced, proudly. "We also just recently purchased five new elliptical trainers, as well as a few new treadmills and we have a new cycling class that's enrolling for the spring term."

"Honey, why don't you head to the locker-room and see if it meets your expectations." Tulley said as he gave a slight squeeze to Nancy's inner elbow, meant to be a subtle warning.

She nodded and took the woman's instructions as to where she could find the locker-room and then she turned to make her way there as quickly as she could. The cinder-block walls inside of the locker-room were painted a garish shade of high-gloss purple, which reminded Nancy of a tube of grape flavored lip-gloss that Audrey had once owned. But that was before Audrey had decided that it tasted better than it looked and chosen to eat it one afternoon. The memory sliced into the already battered exterior of her emotional shell and she felt tears as they formed; hot and moist behind her eyelids.

The locker-room also served as the ladies restroom and housed the whirlpool and sauna, so heavy in the air, hung the scent of chlorine and antibacterial soap. There was the sluicing of water and the loud whirring of the pump that sent the water into an over-chlorinated froth as she passed the first row of lockers, next to the whirlpool. None in this section of lockers happened to be the one she was seeking and so she passed them, along with a woman who was stuffing her laces into a pair of boxing shoes before tucking them away into her bag. Vanessa had a bag like that…a generic duffel that she had used just last year to house all of her scrap fabric when she'd had the idea of making a quilt. Nancy remembered how frustrated Vanessa had been with that project, but how satisfied she's become upon its completion. True enough the quilt was only large enough for a doll, but it was something that had required hours of work and they'd both had a blast with the trial and error of that quilt.

Swallowing back her sorrow and fear, Nancy made her way around the whirlpool to the back of the locker-room where the sauna was. That section of lockers seemed to be cordoned off by a half wall, of cinderblocks in the same high-gloss purple paint. She knew she had to be fast, needed to hurry so that whatever she found, she could still spare a moment or two to leave behind a clue. Not only that, she had to hurry or she ran the risk of angering the man she was with and she wasn't altogether sure that that was a good idea.

There it was; the locker, that belonged to the key…the key that had given her so damn much trouble for the past two and a half months. She had thought she'd ridden herself of it, this morning when she'd tossed it into the trashcan. No such luck. But now as she stood in front of the locker, tugging the key from around her neck, she found she was almost more fearful of not knowing what was in there, than actually knowing.

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Flying down the highway at a speed far too unsafe for him to be traveling, didn't bother Dave Batista. What was bothering him at present was the fact that the GPS locator for Vanessa's phone was so slow and inaccurate that it had spun him around in a damn near complete circle. Randy was manning the laptop and Dave drove, but the time delay was putting a kibosh on tracking the phone and thus keeping his wife just out of arm's length.

"Where the fuck is it now?" Dave muttered in a near growl as he jammed past a Nissan at a crawl in the passing lane.

"Off here—here…" Randy pointed toward the downtown exit and held onto the laptop for dear life as Dave swerved off of the highway onto the exit ramp narrowly missing the front end of a Ford Escort. "Jesus…" Was Randy's grumbled response, as the angry driver honked in protest.

"Down Furmor Street." Randy guided as Dave swung the massive Navigator through spaces between cars with surprising ease and determined accuracy. "This shows the last place the phone was. The YMCA?" His brow rose in question.

A blare of the horn, as Dave's hand jammed down into the center of the steering wheel. "Move Dammit!" He tore into the parking lot over the curb and slammed to a screeching halt in front of the building, heedless of the fact that he took up a good portion of the fire-lane.

Both men jumped from the vehicle and dashed into the building. Randy's eyes were scanning the interior, even as he weaved quickly between the machinery, hoping for a sign of either woman. Dave however hunted down the very first staff member he could find and swung her around to face him, by her elbow. She was surprised and somewhat afraid, that much he could tell from her expression. Likely he shouldn't have been so abrupt in his greeting, but he was less concerned with cordiality than he was with finding his wife. "A woman—" He blurted. "She's short, has long dark hair, wearing a pair of tan Capri pants—was she here?"

The woman took a step back, rubbing her elbow. "I see more than thirty or forty women in here a day. How do you expect me to remem—"

"Less than an hour ago, she would have been in here!" He began in a clearly irritated tone, jamming a copy of his wedding photo into her hand. "Think!"

"I have a responsibility to keep some level of confidentiality for our clients, potential or current." The woman snapped, still rubbing her elbow as she studied the photo.

Dave gritted his teeth and addressed the woman in his most serious manner. "If she was even contemplating becoming a member, I assure you it'll never happen if I don't get to her pretty quick." He pointed a finger toward the woman's chest for emphasis. "Because she'll be dead, and your sense of _confidentiality_ puts her blood on your hands."

The woman lowered her gaze to the photo as if she was contemplating whether she should tell him what he wished and then she lifted her eyes. "This woman was in here…" Her voice seemed to waver. "She was with a man…a big man, stocky…"

"I need you to be specific about why they were here." Dave palmed the photo as she passed it back to him and then tucked it into his wallet

"The man was inquiring about a membership. He said they were married and I noticed that his wife didn't speak; they seemed like a very odd match." She shook her head and let out a tiny laugh. "But you know you never can tell with people…sometimes you get the occasional odd couple in here and you—"

"Did they come in here for something specific?" He pressed, cutting into her ramblings. "Did they leave with anything?"

"Well the woman went into the locker room…and the man allowed me a tour, which was cut short when she came back, but—"

Dave and Randy turned simultaneously in a beeline for the women's locker-room ignoring the rest of the staff member's explanation.

"Sir! You can't go in there!" She shouted out toward the both of them, but received no response.

There were several gasps from half naked women as the two hulking wrestlers entered the locker-room and began a methodic search, for what, neither man could say. Any clue as to Nancy and Barren's whereabouts could be found in the locker-room…or none at all. It was a crapshoot at best, but it was all he had.

Through the rows of lockers he stalked, half believing he might find her face down in the whirlpool. His heart was pounding thick and intensely in his chest as if a bass drum had taken up residence behind his ribcage. It was then that he saw the locker, slightly ajar, as if someone had merely left it open while walking away for a moment. Hanging out of it—was the corner of Nancy's blue fleece jacket.

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Sullivan was fuming as the BMW screamed down the road. "And you're certain there was no package? Nothing of any sort? No envelope?" He asked succinctly. His eyeballs felt like they were boiling in his head.

"No, just the numbers I wrote on my hand." Nancy responded meekly. "If there was a package I promise I would have given it to you." She rubbed her wrist to abate the sting of where Tulley's fingers had bitten into the flesh there when he'd thrown her into the car.

Barren's only response was a throaty laugh soon enough stifled by the sharp tug of hair as Tulley grasped a handful. "I told you people…Duncan was smarter than all of you…He's set us on a wild goose chase."

"Geese get shot." Sully reminded. "Just like Duncan did." He held the paper up and surveyed the numbers he'd copied from Nancy's hand. No earthly idea what they could mean, he growled his frustration. "Any idea about these numbers?" He turned to Barren and asked.

"How the hell would I know? I'm just as clueless as all of you."

The ride for the next 25 miles was as silent as a wake for the dead as Nancy lifted her left hand, examining her sore wrist and then turning it over to glance at the numbers on her palm. If they couldn't determine where the next step of the chase would begin, then the chances of her staying alive long enough to make it home to her family, where whittling away to nothing. The numbers in the locker had been written in permanent marker but they'd been on the ceiling of the locker. She might never have found them if she hadn't been so desperate to find _anything_, when she'd thought she had stumbled upon _nothing_. So in desperation, she'd stuck her head into the locker as if the action would somehow force anything to materialize, and that was when she'd noticed the numbers. So far, the gridlocked trio of enforcers had not yet noticed that she'd left the fleece sweater behind and she would be hard pressed to come up with a reason should they ask about it. It was hard enough to think in this car, squeezed between Tulley and the car door, let alone formulate a plan of escape for herself, but she had to do something. Knowing that the more value she attached to her own life, the bigger the chances of her survival, she set her mind to cracking what must surely be some sort of code and that was when it struck her.

If Dave had been savvy enough to remember to track her from Vanessa's phone, he would be using coordinates—Longitude and Latitude. It had to be. "I know what they mean." Nancy said in a small timid voice.

Sullivan snorted. "How in the bloody hell would _you_ know? You're not even involved in the specifics." He turned to face forward again, dismissing her claim as part of a desperate attempt to add value to her own life.

"She said Duncan was smart, right." Nancy reminded them, only slightly afraid that she might end up pushing the wrong buttons on his temper. "Maybe it _was_ all about specifics…so much about specifics that any idiot could figure it out…the best way to hide something from someone is to make so obvious that you overlook it."

"Oh is that how you managed to hide the key from me?" Barren asked.

Nancy rewarded her with a scowl. "You really don't know when to shut up do you?"

"Enough!" Sullivan put a stop to the argument before it could become explosive. "Well…" He pinned Nancy with an icy stare and rolled his hand as if to hurry her explanation.

"It's latitude and longitude." Nancy announced, a bit more courageously. "I bet if we enter that into the GPS on your dash, we'll find your package…and then you can let us go."

A pensive sigh fluttered through Sullivan's lips and then he entered the numbers into the GPS and was rewarded with a location in the Oregon woods, very near the Hood River area. He turned to face Nancy. "Well, Sweetheart…let's hope your hunch is right, because you're betting your life on it."

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It wasn't as if Barren truly felt or meant the obstinacy she was currently exhibiting. There was simply no other way to mask her vulnerability than to appear nonchalant and uncaring. The fact that everyone in the vehicle including Nancy, was buying the charade told her that she was accomplishing her goal. And what exactly was her goal? Even she couldn't answer that fully, being as it was likely that accomplishing any facet of any goal would endanger the lives of the friends she had made. Yet to save those friends meant that she would have to sacrifice the very thing she had been sent to accomplish. It was very apparent that she would have to choose. Choose between Nancy's existence and her own, between taking down the IRP and restoring the bonds she'd shattered the moment she'd inserted herself into the picture.

One thing she knew for sure was the tension between she and Nancy had to be stoked as one would a dying flame. Because it was that very tension that was putting the current dynamic off balance. Sully and his men had to believe that a fist fight was a mere breath away. Barren likened the theory to a mother attempting to wrangle two fighting siblings in a grocery store. Much as that self same mother might forget half of her shopping list amidst the chaos, Barren was banking on Sully's men forgetting one detail of their well-laid-out plan, making one small mistake upon which Barren could capitalize and then turn the tables in her favor.

Barren was reluctant to start a major battle inside the confines of the vehicle not only because it could cause a wreck, but also because she was leery about being on the receiving end of another one of Tulley's elbows. It couldn't hurt to cause a little verbal scuffle however and so she leaned forward and glanced sidelong at Nancy, who she witnessed was staring out the window, most likely wishing she was home.

"So…" Barren piped up. "What makes you think that she's right about the numbers, Sully? The only calculations she deals with lately are how many square-feet of distance she can put between herself and her husband."

Nancy's head whipped around, much as Barren had known it would, but she hadn't been prepared for the jade glitter of Nancy's eyes, as they lanced through her. "You really are a class act…" She hissed. "If you hadn't been in the road in the first place, we never would have that wreck! None of this would have happened if not for you."

"You're right, if I hadn't been in the middle of the road…you'd have just kept on driving to whatever hotel it was that the two of you reserved for your—" A sharp slap to her cheek, as Nancy fairly dove over Tulley's lap, cut off any further vocal accusations from Barren.

"Don't _ever_ accuse me of something like that, again." Nancy seethed, her palm stinging from the contact with Barren's cheek.

"That's quite enough now…" Tulley chuckled, obviously enjoying the raging battle between the two women. He tugged Nancy back into position beside him, but his attempt at keeping the peace didn't last for long.

Nancy nearly exploded once more when Barren had the audacity to laugh out loud. "I'm telling you, you'd better keep your mouth shut or I'll kill you myself and save them the trouble!" Nancy warned with an uncharacteristic hardness in her voice, mirrored by her angry countenance. "I'm not gonna let your bullshit, cost me my life."

Barren's laugh transformed to an amused snort and she replied. "Honey, if you actually think they're gonna let _either_ of us live once they have what they're after, then your dumber than Randy said you were."

This comment was apparently amusing to more than just Barren, for it brought forth a round of laughter from all but the driver of the car and Nancy herself, who used the split second distraction to discreetly slide the cell phone between the seat-cushion on her left side. In the event that they did kill her, at least the police would have someway of tracking the vehicle and catching the men, even if they didn't come across her body straightaway. At least she was _hoping_ that her plan would work, life had proven itself very unpredictable in the past, so she wasn't banking on it changing anytime soon.

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With his hands shaking, Dave pulled the sweater gently from the locker, lifting it up to check for signs of blood. Satisfied that there was no visible evidence that she had been hurt, he fished inside of the pockets hoping for a clue of sorts, but found nothing more than a long forgotten receipt for gasoline.

"What are you trying to tell me, Nancy?" He muttered the inquiry on a frustrated sigh, as he tucked the sweater beneath his arm and leaned down to peer inside of the locker.

It was empty, save for a layer of dust, recently disturbed by the sweater that had been thrust inside and then upon closer inspection he spied a tiny piece of toilet paper that had been wedged between the back wall and upper ceiling of the locker. Dave's eye caught it and with the glimpse of it, his eye noticed something else. Far too large a man to force his head and torso inside of the tiny locker, he resorted to spinning around and shoving the sweater in Randy's hand, his eyes flitting in all directions in search of a solution.

"What are you doing?" Randy asked, confused as to why his friend was interested in an empty locker when time was slipping away from beneath them both.

"There's something written in here and I can't see it." His response was both irritated and dismissive as he turned and then without asking, snatched a make-up mirror from the hand of a young lady who was sitting on the bench in obvious fear for her life. The abrupt action elicited a slight whimper of fright from the woman yet she made no move to run and hide, finding herself just the least bit interested in what he was doing.

Dave thrust the mirror into the locker, tilting it so that the numbers he'd glimpsed, written on the upper ceiling of the locker were completely visible. They were backward in their reflection and since he didn't want to take the chance of forgetting them once he committed them to memory, he turned his head to Randy and demanded in a clipped voice. "Pen."

Randy, who was scrambling through his pockets, could not produce one and so he turned to the frightened woman, noticing her make-up bag wide open on the bench. He reached inside snatching up some womanly implement which he deduced to be eyeliner. Another frightened, over-embellished squeal from the female victim on the bench and Randy furrowed his brow, addressing her. "Relax, would you? No one's gonna hurt you." He then turned, holding the eyeliner poised above the skin of his wrist where he jotted down the numbers as Dave read them off.

"I'm not sure how much help these will be, but there's a reason she led us to this locker." Dave said absently as he handed the woman her mirror. He noticed that she hugged it to her chest protectively as if she thought he might wish to keep it.

Randy tossed the eyeliner back into the woman's bag and both men headed for the door, amidst rude comments from the suddenly, much braver group of females. He even _'took one for the team'_, in the form of a toilet-paper roll in the dead center of his back as he reached the door. It bounced off harmlessly and he ignored it as they both strode through the door into the main area, met by the petite staffer and two over-inflated security guards.

Randy and Dave walking side by side at a swift pace apparently served as a deterrent and the guards both stood aside to let them pass in wordless haste. Both men were back in the Navigator, checking the status of the GPS and voicing their summations of what they'd found, when it suddenly hit Randy as to what the numbers on his wrist might be.

"That's latitude and longitude, Dave." Randy blurted, hopefully. "Look at the computer—the last reading that it gives of their location. They're obviously still moving, but look…Same type of numbers as these." He pointed out.

"These are on the same grid and if this is actually where they're headed, then we have a hell of a drive and they already have a hell of head start." Dave concurred, turning the key in the ignition and peeling away from the curb, leaving Randy to grasp the laptop in haste to prevent its sudden fall to the floorboard.

"Maybe we should get the cops involved." Randy suggested, swallowing a lump of regret.

Dave arched an eyebrow in a momentary sidelong glance before speaking. "And what would you suggest I tell them?" He asked, squeezing the large vehicle in between a semi and a school bus. "That my wife and your future fiancé were kidnapped from my home and we know where their going, based solely on numbers scribbled in eyeliner, on your arm and a fleece jacket my wife left in a locker?" Dave shook his head in incredulous fury. "The amount of time it would take to entertain questions that we don't have the answers to, is _not_ time we can spare."

Randy nodded as if he agreed but his statement contradicted his action. "Suppose we just call 911 and report a murder about to take place…you know like when someone calls in a bomb threat? It might get their attention." He reasoned. "What if we give them the coordinates and then hang up and let them send someone from another county out there?"

"Are you a fuckin' idiot?" Dave asked calmly as if he expected an answer, even though his face indicated an explosion of rage boiling beneath the surface. "That's asking for more trouble than we can deal with. Suppose we do call and suppose the police catch up to us before they find them? What do you think the charges might be for something like that? For phoning in what they would term as a bogus threat?" His voice had risen measurably.

Randy's face screwed into an irritated scowl and he finally lost his cool. "I'm grasping at straws, man!" He admitted. "I don't have any better ideas, but doing _something_! _Anything_ besides sitting in here and following a stone-aged GPS signal seems a little on the passive side!"

"Well if I had known I was going to have to mount a search and rescue mission this morning, I'd have had the forethought to charter a fucking plane!" Dave snapped.

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	37. Chapter 36

**Uncommon Bond **

Chapter 36

Rated – NC-17/MA

Author: Batistafan(given name, given on request)

THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO **UNCOMMON SENSE **– If you have not yet read the first story, doing so may better help you to piece together the events and characters of this fiction…enjoy!

_**Disclaimer**__**: This is a mature fanfiction intended for mature readers. This story contains graphic violence, as well as explicit, mature, consensual sexual situations and these would not be deemed appropriate for all readers.**_

_**I do not own nor claim to have any affiliation with the WWE, its characters, wrestlers, staff or other affiliates. I do own any original characters that I have created, as well as scenarios that ensue throughout the course of this fiction. However, since both my characters and scenarios are inexorably intertwined with those of the WWE, my ownership of them is not autonomous.**_

_**I do not endorse nor do I discourage the use of any brand-name products that might be referenced in the fiction and have no claim to them as they are property of their respective companies of license. Thank you kindly for not suing.**_

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"The enemy is anybody who's going to get you killed, no matter which side he's on."

**Joseph Heller**, _Catch 22_  
_US novelist (1923 - 1999)_

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Owen swallowed nervously as he drove along the highway, staying far enough behind the BMW to keep from being seen, yet close enough not to lose them should they take a sudden detour. He was doing a fine job of tailing them undetected, but the stink of it was; that he had a gun trained on him the entire time he drove. In all of his years of open battle and covert operations training, he'd never been caught off guard before…certainly not by someone like the man in the yellow parka, seated next to him.

He almost laughed out loud when he recalled just how it was that he had come to find himself in his current predicament. Owen had been parked in a lot a quarter of a block away and had been so closely watching the men in the beamer as it sat parked in the YMCA parking-lot, that he'd not been paying close attention to his surroundings and had soon felt the unmistakable pressure of a gun pressed against his temple. He'd been so certain that a bullet was to follow, that he was almost offended when the only thing that came next was a series of clipped questions.

"Who are you and why are you following that car?"

The man wasn't a killer…maybe not by professional standards. Owen could tell _that_ much by the tone of his voice. But regardless of whether the man was a professional or not, there _was_ the muzzle of the .45 firmly planted against his head…he knew what kind of gun it was by the way it felt. He didn't need to see it. So any musings about whether the man was or wasn't the killing type were swiftly tugged from his brain, when the man repeated the question, this time following it with a little jab of the gun.

"If ye'll pull that gun away from my head, perhaps we can introduce ourselves properly." Owen calmly cajoled, hoping that the man didn't have itchy fingers; else he'd end up setting off the gun's hair trigger and Owen would be left with only half of his head.

"I asked you a question." The man said in a lucid, no nonsense voice. "Either answer it, or I'll shoot you and resume the chase myself."

"Would ye believe me if I told you I'm _not_ following them?" Owen ventured to ask, knowing that the more people that became involved in this chase, the more out of control things could turn out to be. This whole situation could end badly and he certainly didn't know this man well enough to trust him.

"I might be tempted to believe that, except for the fact that I've been following _you_—following them, for the past 15 miles." The man pointed out rather logically. "So since I have the gun, I get to ask the questions. If I don't like the answers, then I hope you're right with God because as I said once already, I'll kill you."

Owen sensed, more than actually knowing, that this man was about to make good on his ineloquent threat, so he clenched his jaw and sighed in defeat. "I'm following them so that I can save my woman's life and get her out of the country. The other girl must've been pulled in by mistake, but I was planning on getting her out of there too…just so ye know."

Satisfied that this would help appease the man holding the gun, Owen gulped, praying that the beamer wouldn't drive off while he was being held hostage. But he hadn't been prepared for what came next.

"Get out of the car." The man ordered in his same self-assured voice. Calm—the man was eerily calm and Owen wasn't exactly sure what he might be tempted to do. Owen remained.

"Listen…" Owen began, his hands up half-distance, in a gesture of surrender. "If ye have been following them as ye say, then ye know if we lose them, we won't find them again…at least not alive anyway."

"Get out of the car." The man repeated, apparently not phased by Owen's words. "I have fewer targets to keep my eyes on if you're with me."

"_Me_? Go with _you_…in yer car?" Owen asked in disbelief, as his eyes widened.

"That's the idea." The man confirmed succinctly, as he extended his hand and opened the door for Owen, never moving the gun from its target.

Owen chewed his lip as he stepped from the car in resigned obedience. "I'll go with ye, but I need my bag from the trunk first."

"Not a chance." The man announced. "I'll almost bet there's a gun in that bag."

"Look, even if we manage to get to them in time." Owen began to point out, thinking of the false passports in his trunk. "Without the paperwork in my bag, I can't get Barren to safety, so I won't go without it. Ye'll have to kill me…or trust me."

Owen could see that the man appeared to be in deep contemplation for a moment and yet his thoughtful posture never allowed him to relax his hold on the gun, giving Owen no opportunity to disarm him. The man could easily run out of patience and put a bullet in him right where he stood, but Owen was firm in his decision. He could not assure that Barren would be admitted through the Canadian Border without those papers and he knew that time would not allow for him to backtrack to get them. Owen had no choice but to stand.

The man nodded and with a warning he allowed Owen to get his bag. "That bag stays in the back of the truck until we get where we're going." He informed Owen as he led him still at gun-point to the black Dodge Ram 4x4, parked several yards to the rear. He instructed Owen to enter from the passenger side and to slide over to the driver's seat, his gun still trained on him. "You're driving." He told Owen. "And don't pull any horseshit, because I'm not in a real good mood right now."

Owen agreed affably and started up the engine, pulling out just in time to resume his pursuit. After a few silent moments behind the wheel, he ventured to inquire as to the man's name. "I'm Owen McDade." He said, hoping that his introduction would act as a prompt. It didn't. The road stretched on and finally Owen alleged, "She's really not as bad as you think she is."

"Excuse me?"

"Barren…I get the sense that ye don't care much for her." Owen announced, noting with satisfaction that the man's expression confirmed his distaste for Owen's intended. "Not a lot of people do when first they meet her." He continued. "But she's had it rough in life and she doesn't always know how to handle it. I'm sure if ye got trampled underfoot by her, 'twas not what she intended."

"The other woman in that car is my very best friend." The man announced in a clipped, slightly angry tone. "And Barren's senseless trampling put Nancy in that position, when she had no business being there, so you'll forgive me if I'm not apt to buy into your sympathy plea. But since the idea of you taking Barren _out_ of the country appeals so greatly to me, I'll help you. Otherwise let's keep the chit-chat to a minimum."

"Agreed…What was it you said yer name was?" Owen asked, knowing he'd never actually told him. He couldn't say whether he liked the man or not, but at least he had some clue as to whose side he was on and for now that was good enough.

"I didn't." The man snapped.

"Anyone ever tell ye, that yer mighty cordial?"

A sigh fluttered through the man's lips and then he finally spoke. "My name is Max."

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The group had stopped at a service station for a fill-up and though it might have served as a fine opportunity to flag down some help, so tightly locked down was each of the women that little more than a glance through the windows was possible. Tulley had his meaty hand tightly gripping the flesh of each woman's thigh and on his lips came the hiss of a threat, should either of them utter so much as a whimper. It was effective, for neither Nancy, nor Barren did anything more than breathe the entire time the car was at the pump.

The drive had taken almost 4 hours and it was early afternoon, by the time that Sullivan announced that they must turn off onto a side road that led through a copse of trees, into the woods. The wind was picking up, whipping the drizzle into a frenzy and rocking the car slightly as they drove.

Nancy was trembling and anxious, but she did her best to remain calm. Any tendency toward panic would fracture her ability to think and foil any attempt she might make to escape; and it was becoming clearer by the moment that escape was the _only_ way that she was going to get out of her current predicament alive. It was almost an animalistic instinct, brewing inside of her—growing bigger, hotter, more intense by the moment. The thought of not seeing her son grow old enough to walk, or speak, or even to return the love she had for him, had Nancy envisioning the most horrible ways possible to kill the men in the car.

Surely it wasn't morally right that Nancy was thinking of how the shoestring in her shoes could prove useful for choking the man next to her, or that the long fingernails on her hands could be useful in gouging his eyes out, long enough for her to slam her palm into his nose, shattering the bone and sending it upward into his brain. At this point, she didn't really care that her thoughts might be evil in nature or that they might be earning her an extended stay in confession; she just wanted her life back—the way it had been before Barren had come charging in like a big white elephant. Her macabre feelings were interrupted by the slowing of the car and a soft murmur from Sullivan's lips.

"Slow down, we're almost at the spot."

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"I know you can find her if anybody can." Audrey spoke encouragingly to the white rabbit on her lap. "It's real important."

The rabbit seemed unaffected by her praise, as his tiny pink nose twitched it's curiosity for the sock on the bed next to Audrey.

Audrey was certain that since police used dogs to track people that a rabbit would do just as well. First off, she didn't have a dog, which would have been her best choice and secondly, she was pretty sure that rabbits were smarter than dogs anyhow. Therefore Audrey had settled upon the rabbit as her rescuer. Of course Audrey had really wanted to do the job herself, but her mother was downstairs and had her eye on everything—in fact Audrey was pretty sure her mother could see out of the back of her head, so it could mean big trouble if she went to look for her stepmother on her own.

"Now you'll need to know what Nancy smells like so that you can pick up her trail." Audrey announced firmly as she stood from her sitting position and then placed the rabbit on the bed in the spot she had been. At this point, Audrey withdrew a bottle of _Euphoria_ perfume from her top-hat. She had placed the bottle in her hat in order to hide it so that her mother wouldn't be curious and though it wasn't her stepmother's usual scent, it had been the only one that she could reach without a stool. So it would have to do.

Audrey pulled the cap off and aimed the bottle at the oblivious rabbit, pressing down on the sprayer twice. The blast of perfume hit the rabbit directly in the face both times and he very nearly hopped away, but Audrey caught him in time to inquire, "Have you got it?" The rabbit's only answer was a series of sneezes and a bit of squirming.

"I'm almost done." Audrey announced, remembering that often when people were rescued, they were cold. Saint Bernards were sent to find people with a barrel of hot cocoa strapped to their necks, and though she knew her bunny could not _possibly_ carry a barrel, she was positive he could carry at least one packet of hot cocoa. So, Audrey eagerly taped the packet of cocoa to the rabbit's chest with a roll of her father's athletic tape and was just about to send him out of the two-story window inside of the top hat, which she had nestled inside of her sheet cape, when she heard her mother's voice behind her.

"I'm not sure what you're sending out of that window, but you'd better pull it back in here right now." Angie's voice was firm yet placid, as she watched her youngest daughter turn back around. She could tell by the look on Audrey's face that she was obviously more disappointed that she'd been halted in mid-plan, than scared of being in trouble.

"Don't be mad." Audrey fairly begged. "I was just trying to help out."

Angie curled her finger indicating that Audrey should step away from the window and bring the package with her. "I don't doubt that you were trying to help and I'm not mad, er…at least I don't think I'll be—What _do_ you have in there?"

An indecisive moment of hesitation passed and then Audrey thrust the bundle toward her mother. She was exhausted by the prospect of trying to explain her plan in detail, scared of her stepmother not ever being found, but most of all she was certain she had failed her baby brother in the very worst way. "He was going to pick up Nancy's trail and then she could come home. I think he would lead her home." She spoke the last comment on a hopeful sigh.

Angie thought she might have glimpsed a tear in her daughter's eye and in addition to the urge to hold her to comfort her, she also felt compelled to compliment Audrey's attempt at improvisation. "Oh, I see." Angie concurred, peeling back the sheet cape to reveal the claustrophobic rabbit, who was squirming madly, hell bent on getting out of the hat. A quick look at the sad tape job on the rabbit's chest, gave Angie pause. "Oh my…complete with cocoa." She exclaimed with a furrowed brow, wondering how in the world they would ever get all of that tape off of the silky white fur.

Audrey nodded perfunctorily and announced in a rather panicked babble. "My Daddy said big sisters are _supposed_ to protect little brothers. If my rabbit doesn't find Nancy, then my baby brother won't have a mommy and that's _so_ sad because _I_ have a mommy and so does Vanessa and even so does Toby and just about everyone I know has one, but _he_ _won't_ and…" Her tiny arms flopped down to her side and her chin touched her chest as she ducked her head in defeat. "If I don't help, then I'm a worser big sister than anyone…and I love Nancy a bunch too and that's so bad if she's gone forever." Her voice was a tremble mixed with a whine and Angie knew that as honorable as Audrey's intentions were, her daughter was clearly mistaken about her duties as a big-sister.

"You actually helped more than anyone else did." Angie stated matter-of-factly, grasping Audrey's hands and then tugging the girl onto her lap. "_You_ were the one who was smart enough to look out the window and copy down the numbers on the license plate and _you_ managed to remember the car…only good big sisters think fast like you did."

"Daddy might find her." Was all Audrey said and even that unsure statement was uttered with a lackluster whimper as she leaned her head onto her mommy's shoulder, snaking her tiny arms around Angie's neck.

"Your Daddy _will_ find her." Angie assured, but even as she spoke, she couldn't be certain that she believed her own words.

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"That 'Dot' has been sitting in the same spot on this map for about the past forty-five minutes." Randy noted with utter annoyance as he glanced sideways at Dave Batista. "You don't think they could have found the phone on her and tossed it out?" He further inquired.

Dave was just as disinclined to answer the question, as he was to ponder it. If they had found the phone, then that meant that someone had put their hands on his wife in some sort of search and so thinking about _that_ possibility only angered him to the point of an existential explosion. He swallowed, his fingers tightening in their grip on the steering wheel. "Don't know." Dave muttered.

Randy shifted nervously with the laptop in his grasp. "Do you think she would have had the presence of mind to ditch it, if she thought she would be caught with it? I-I mean that might explain why it's not moving on the GPS." He rambled on. "Unless they're dead. I don't mean that, but maybe—I mean that's the only other reason that they—"

Dave sighed, eyebrows pleating and frowned. "Would you stop?"

"Well I'm trying to be realistic about this, Dave!" Randy was clearly on the verge of a meltdown. "There's every possibility that we won't get there in time and I think we should get the cops involved…there's bound to be a highway trooper closer to their location than we are and—"

"She's not dead!" Dave snapped, punctuating the statement with a glare. His grip on the wheel was now so fiercely tight that his fingers were going numb.

"Why the hell are we taking the chance?" Randy asked. "How do we _know _she's not dead? I mean we don't know they could both—"

Dave nearly growled, his chest heaving with a deep breath. "Because I just know! Okay?" He told Randy through gritted teeth. "I know, because I think I would just feel something if she _were_ dead…" At least he thought he might know if Nancy were dead…he would feel _something_; some equally living part of him would just naturally die along with her. Wouldn't it? Even when his wife had been lying in the hospital bed, before he had arrived at the hospital…As fearful for her as he had been, Dave had just somehow known that she wasn't dead…he had known that she wouldn't die. But as certain as he was that she wasn't dead at present, the minutes ticking by with grueling sluggishness, were robbing him of that certainty.

As many times in the past, as Dave Batista had been able to intervene and aid Nancy when she got herself into a sticky mess, this did not seem like one of those times. Yet as often as Nancy found herself in a jam, which was fairly often given her perennial flawed judgment, she found her way back out, as if she'd ridden on the wings of her guardian angel the whole time. Sure, he wasn't there by her side now, but Dave knew that if there was the slightest chance for escape, Nancy would take it. At least he sure as hell hoped she would. She was fairly savvy and so he was sure that the moment no one was looking, she would take off running and be gone like a shot in the dark. But then Dave's satisfaction as he contemplated her innate speed, reminded him of her intrinsic tendency toward compassion. She wouldn't try to escape if it meant leaving someone behind, even if that _someone_ happened to be Barren. She would wait until opportunity afforded them both a way out or she wouldn't go at all.

A sigh and a groan of frustration seeped through his lips when he thought to himself that the only way out for both women was a well-timed distraction. Goodness only knew Nancy was good at enacting distractions, simply because she was a thinker. She'd stolen the remote from him countless times by pointing behind him, horror etched on her face as she cited some heinous crime taking place in the other room at the hands of his youngest daughter. He would be fooled, of course, and turn back around only to find her in possession of the remote and out of arms reach at the same time. One particularly disturbing incident set a precedent for her ability to distract when he'd spied the last Krispy Kreme donut in a box on the counter, but he'd been so concerned with catching his own shaving bag as she tossed it in the air and suddenly made a mad dash, that he'd missed his opportunity to seize the last donut. And he'd had to watch _her_ eat it on the run. Dave Batista's heart literally ached with the memories as they trickled through his already jumbled brain and with his lips in a hard-set line, he drove on in determined silence.

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"X marks the spot." Sullivan announced, as he tapped the ground beneath him with the tip of his Italian leather shoe. "Start digging."

Nancy lifted her hands just in time to catch the heavy shovel as it was tossed toward her by Sullivan who snorted his amusement. She almost fumbled, when she felt the weight of it hit her palms, the cold feel of the wood stinging her skin. The wind was still whipping through the tops of the trees and the fine mist that had earlier moistened the landscape had turned into a chilling sleet that soaked her through to the bone. Nancy hesitated for a moment when she heard Tulley clear his throat.

"Eh, Sully? Do ye really think it's wise to be givin' her somethin' she could use as a weapon?" Tulley asked, his forehead creasing in confusion as he rubbed the scruff on his chin with two fingers. "I mean…one good swing and she, well let's just say…at least _one_ of us could stand a damned good chance of being decapitated."

Sullivan grinned as he stood behind Barren, one of his hands resting on her shoulder and the other on the gun pressed against the back of her neck. "Fine. _You_ dig, then."

Tulley didn't really feel like being the victim of a stiff spade to the face, but he sure as hell didn't feel like digging a damned trench either. He hadn't bought in for all of the hell he'd been put through in the past month and a half. All he really wanted was to collect his paycheck and get the fuck out of there. Tulley frowned and let an angry breath flutter past his lips, as he turned to face Nancy. "Start diggin'." He told her firmly, jabbing his thick finger a mere hairsbreadth from her nose. "And if that shovel ends up aiming anywhere but the ground, you'll be digging yer own grave."

Nancy's shoulder lurched forward as Tulley's hand gave her a rough shove and so she hefted the shovel and positioned the spaded end on the ground. Though the snow had long ago stopped falling only to be replaced by sleet, and the spot where she was to dig was clear, she knew that the dirt was frozen. Nancy could tell that much by the cold seeping through the bottoms of her shoes and chilling her feet. It was going to be hellishly hard to dig in earth that was frozen solid. She released a pensive breath and jumped onto the head of the spade, suddenly daunted when the blade sunk a mere two inches into the frozen ground. Up in the air once more, she jumped and came down onto the shovel with all her might. The shovel sank less than a half inch.

"Oh hell, Tulley!" Sullivan barked on a laugh. "She's a hundred pounds soakin' wet and by the time she gets that hole dug, the next president will be in office…get yer ass over there and let's be done with this."

Tulley groused as he ripped the shovel from Nancy's timid grasp and then he shoved her backward toward Evan, who caught her just before she fell on her rump. He gently pressed the tip of his own gun against her side to keep her in place.

All in the group watched as Tulley raised the spade into the air, slamming it down to plant it into position. He then jumped on it, sinking the spade clean to the hilt. His efforts behind the tool made Nancy's previous two attempts appear dreadfully inferior as he moved mountains of dirt with each excavation. In minutes, he was standing in a hole, three-feet wide by three-feet deep with a look of dubiousness etched into his face. "Well? Where in the hell is it?" He glared at Nancy. "Yer the one who had the almighty-wise idea that those numbers ye wrote meant somethin' so where the hell is it?" He accused, jabbing a finger in the air.

"I-I don't know." Nancy stammered, her voice quickly becoming a broken whisper as the wind whipped her hair across her face. "I don't even know what you're looking for."

"Dig a little farther down, lazy ass." Barren piped up. "Surely you don't actually think Duncan would bury it close enough to the surface that a squirrel could find it?"

Exhausted from digging and sweating his ass off in the thick jacket, fed up with being forced to baby-sit two temperamental women was about all he could stand. Tulley nearly roared in injustice as he proceeded to plant one foot outside of the hole, evidently intent on putting his hands on Barren. "I've had enough of yer sarcasm fer one day!"

"Calm down!" Sullivan snapped, his face twisting into a grimace. "She's right. That hole does look a bit shallow, so keep digging."

"…keep digging…sorry sons of whores…mouthy bitches…" Tulley muttered and cursed as he sank himself back in the hole and continued to ram the spade into the ground again and again, that action followed by sheets of dirt as it flew from within.

It was less than twenty minutes later when one particularly temper-filled jab of the shovel produced the sound of metal on metal. "Ah ha!" Tulley laughed out loud as he scraped away the remainder of dirt from around the object and reached down, pulling out a fire-safe metal box.

The almost irresistible thought of announcing _'I told you so'_, crossed Nancy's mind, but she was sure her comment wouldn't be well received and so she kept silent, her own curiosity for what was in the box, barely superseded by her desire to be free.

"On yer knees." Sullivan told Barren, giving her a stiff push that planted her forcefully on the ground. "Lace your fingers behind yer head…Stay put and don't move." He took a few steps forward and grasped the cold metal box, laying it on the ground several feet away. Sullivan took expert aim with his pistol and fired one shot, blowing the lock off of the box, the force of which sent the lid flying open.

Not one in the group of five breathed for what seemed like an eternity, as Sullivan pulled a plastic bag, housing a multitude of folders, from within the box. The slow, sardonic smile of satisfaction crept across his countenance as he turned the package over in his free hand. "Well I guess you were right after all." He told Nancy and then glanced back down at the package.

Barren glared at Nancy with narrow-eyed disgust, deciding that now was as good a time as any for her to act, she just hoped that Nancy would jump at the bait and then they could use the much needed distraction as a means of escape. "I hope you're happy, Genius…now he has what he wants, thanks to you, and he's about to kill us."

"Shut up." Nancy muttered, her face a mask of sadness. She had been thinking the very same thing and now that they would be of no further use to the men, they were in fact going to die…it's not like she'd needed Barren to remind her of that.

"Well _you_ can be nonchalant about it if you want." Barren pointed out angrily. "Maybe Dave's ex-wife can raise your son once you're gone…who knows this might be just the thing those two needed to work out their differences…seeing how you'll be out of the picture and all."

If Barren had harbored any doubts about whether her last few comments would set the hook, those doubts were instantly dispelled when Nancy's tiny balled-up fist connected with her jaw, bringing with it a force that she would not have thought possible for someone so petite. It rattled Barren's cage, knocking her nearly senseless for a second or two. Both women hit the ground, with Barren falling to her back and Nancy on top of her, arm raised, ready to land a second blow.

Sullivan laid the package down on the ground and reached down with his free hand. Grasping at the back of her pants, he hauled Nancy off of Barren, kicking and screaming. "You two have been hanging out with wrestlers for far too long." He chided sardonically, uncharacteristically placid…a humorless laugh following. "Tulley, shoot both of these bitches and let's get on the road."

Both women soon found themselves on their knees in the dirt as Tulley stood behind them, eager to un-holster his weapon and rid the trio of the two female antagonists—the only two people who could connect them to the possession of the documents that would bring the IRP to it's knees.

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Max had allowed Owen out of the truck once he'd reached the spot on the top of the hill that he knew would give him the best view of what was happening in the cold valley below. He'd given the man his bag and kept his gun trained on him until he'd descended the rise down into the valley, at which point he'd set up his position from the cliff so he could watch the group below and intercede when the time was right.

Several factors and a multitude of variables were going to come into play once he had to make his move. From his vantage point, he could see that the sleet in the valley was subsiding, and yet it was increasing on the hill. The afternoon light was wreaking havoc with his unaided eyes and the wind was shifting, changing directions between the valley walls. That alone could mean that the shear from a strong breeze would send his well-aimed bullet off course by a few inches, or even a few yards. That could mean the difference in taking a life or losing his only chance to save one.

He was lying on his stomach, with his rifle situated on a rack so there would be minimal movement as he adjusted the sight and set the focus on the scope. Max was a good two-hundred and twenty yards away at least and though he could not hear what was being said, the scope showed him every movement that was being made. What he'd determined to be a very dangerous and heated situation had quickly come to a boiling point.

He carefully eyed the group through the crosshairs on the scope, knowing that now was the time. Years of hunting with his father were about to pay off, but he had to be accurate and he had to be quick, because his best friend was kneeling on the ground with her life mere inches away from being snuffed out. Thankful that the man's standing position behind the women kneeling, presented no obstacles. Max Hadaway could have picked off a pheasant from three hundred yards, so nailing a full human torso from this distance would prove far simpler. Max squinted into the scope lining the crosshairs over the man's heart. The wind seemed steady, but not wildly irregular for the moment and so he said a swift prayer and squeezed the trigger.

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Sullivan had barely bent over to retrieve the package, when a suspicious and eerily familiar sound from an elevated location forced his eyes heavenward. He heard the bullet slice through the air like a lover's whisper, mere seconds before it plummeted through the flesh of Tulley's chest. There was no crack of a discharge, as would be common in a shot that had missed its mark. And Sullivan could tell by the sharp pitch of Tulley's body as he fell backward, instantly lifeless, that the shot was a direct heart-hit, from a high caliber weapon. There was a sniper on that hill somewhere and he was a damned good shot. In one fluid motion, suspecting that he'd been betrayed, Sullivan snarled and ripped Barren from her kneeling position clutching her to the front of his body for use as a human shield. No matter how expert in his craft the sniper proved to be, there would always be the possibility that the wind would drag his round off of its intended path and having someone in front of him made him less of a target. Yet still, he took care to keep his head behind Barren's, lest he be the next target.

Evan was surely thinking the same, for he too snatched Nancy upward and held her against himself. "Who's on that hill?!" He shouted toward Sullivan, aiming his handgun straight at Sullivan and Barren. "You shameless sunuva bitch! You brought back-up didn't you?"

"Me?!" Sullivan scoffed in disbelief Turning his own gun on Nancy and Evan. "You're the one who went AWOL because of a piece of ass! Which one of my men did you pay off to stab me in the back?"

The air around them seemed to zip and zing with an unseen energy of betrayal, as every eye in the small circle seemed to search for the traitor among them. Charged and heavy, the atmosphere all around them appeared to be primed for an explosion of sorts. Heavy breathing, heavy tension…something or someone was bound to snap.

A familiar musical voice rang through the trees, causing Barren's head to whip around so hard her neck threatened to snap.

"That would be me." A very alive, very unscathed, Duncan O'Neill stepped from behind the cover of trees, with his gun raised, pointing in Sullivan's direction. He almost looked like a model from a wilderness, GQ photo-shoot, graceful as he was. The gun resting confidently in his palm seemed out of place, but he held it like a professional marksman nonetheless, taking slow, sure steps into the small clearing as if he owned the whole world and everything in it. His sparkling cerulean eyes swept from one pair to the next and then down to the dead man on the ground, as if he were simply surveying a myriad of guests at a cocktail party.

Sullivan was shell-shocked, but only momentarily. He regained his composure quickly, holding Barren tightly to him, he spoke. "I should have known, Evan…I should have _known_ that if I didn't finish the job myself it wouldn't get done!" Sullivan's gaze riveted nervously between the two men, his gun reverting aim from Evan to Duncan and then back again. "You are incredibly naïve if you believe you can trust him." He reasoned with Evan, waiting for a response of sorts; none came. "You would turn on me? How long have we worked as a team?"

Evan chose not to react to Sullivan's prattling, instead he softly whispered to Nancy. "I don't wanna kill ye, lass…so reach down and get those papers fer me."

Terrified to do so, yet mortified not to obey, Nancy leaned down to grasp them, but before her icy, shaking fingers could make contact, she heard Sullivan speak once more.

"Yer a fool, Evan If ye think he cares what happens to ye."

"Maybe." Evan admitted. "But none of that matters now, because I just want out."

Mere inches away from the documents, Nancy remained motionless, something in her gut told her that the situation was about to take a volatile turn. Not to mention, there was still the sniper on the hill and there was no telling which of the three men he was siding with, so it was probably best to stay as close to the ground as she could. Nancy cast a timid glance in the direction of the hill, just past the break in the tree-line and her jaw nearly hit the ground. She could not distinguish a face from such a great distance, but there was no mistaking that flash of yellow. It was a color unlike any other and Nancy knew colors, because she dealt with them on a daily basis. At least she knew that _particular_ shade of canary yellow…she knew that parka.

"Out!?" Sullivan laughed in incredulity. "There's no _'getting out'_ of this business! There's only degrees of how deeply yer 'in it'! You may be out of my circle, but yer still in with him…that means yer always going to be a part of something you wish you'd never started."

"The package." Evan reminded Nancy, whom he realized was frozen in her crouched position. To Sullivan he stated. "I don't care to what degree I'm in, as long as I'm no longer in it with you."

Nancy heard the last brave words of his speech, followed by the loud crack of a bullet as it discharged from Duncan's gun and sank into Evan's throat. The spatter of blood pelted her face and neck and she began to tremble almost violently, stifling the urge to scream. Nancy scrambled backward on her haunches breathing heavily as she watched his body fall with a loud thump to the earth below. "Oh my God…Oh God…" She wiped at the blood on her face and let out a tiny whimper before she felt herself being tugged with gratuitous force to her feet.

"Bravo…" Duncan said as he placed Nancy in front of his body, and jammed the gun into her temple with undue pressure. "You know, the one thing about Evan that I _never_ liked; was his soft spot for women…it clouded his judgment. I think we could have been done and gone a lot sooner had I not enlisted him. But it doesn't matter, because I find myself in the position where he was more a liability than an asset, anyhow."

"Duncan? You…" Barren's voice was tremulous as she was hit the sudden realization of what was happening. "I thought you were dead! I-I saw you on that—there was that video and I saw you—you faked your death?"

Duncan frowned. "Well you could act like you were just the least bit happy to see me alive."

Barren felt nauseous. "But if you were alive, then why did you put all of this on me? Why didn't you get the papers yourself? Everyone already thought you were dead, they wouldn't have even been looking for you!" She twisted her face into a contemptuous grimace. "Or better yet! Why in the hell did you hide them in the first place? Why didn't you just take them to the authorities!?" Her hands were curled in rage against the swell of her chest, as the depth of her own brother's treachery hit her fully. "I-I risked my life! I put other people's lives at risk! I mourned for you-you asshole!"

"You always were an idiot, Barren. Weak, nonsensical…forever running to mommy and daddy when things didn't go your way. They always did coddle you." He spoke in a disgusted tone as he stepped forward, taking Nancy with him, inching ever closer to the documents that she had backed away from only seconds before.

"If you take another step toward those papers, I'll kill Barren." Sullivan insisted as he rammed the barrel of the gun under her chin. "I mean it."

A long tense silence ensued and then Duncan slowly flashed his trademark smile, blue eyes twinkling. "Kill her…hell, kill them both. I don't care, because honestly you'd be saving me the trouble of killing them after I'm done offing you." Another step closer to the package he went, all the while taking Nancy with him, his entire body shielded by her own.

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